


A Dog Eat Dog World

by Sealgirl



Category: Ironside (TV 1967)
Genre: Fighting Ring, Gen, episode-style fic, undercover police work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:34:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 39,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28361010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sealgirl/pseuds/Sealgirl
Summary: Bodies have been showing up in San Francisco Bay, all beaten then dumped. Chief Ironside thinks that they're linked to an underground fighting ring. Mark and Eve go undercover to prove him right, but it's Ed that ends up in trouble.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> A/N – With thanks to Tann and Realmlife for taking a look at the rough copy of the original version. 
> 
> Originally posted May 2008 on ffnet and it has finally made its way over here.
> 
> Also, since there's a prologue, the chapter numbers are all one out. Sigh...

A Dog East Dog World

Prologue

It was nearly closing time and the bar was as almost empty as it had been all day.

The place smelt of beer and stale smoke, the aroma had seeped into the carpet and the walls, the tables were sticky and the yellowing varnish was starting to come off at the corners.

Today, apart from the dishevelled barman and the incurable drunks, there were three men who had a small booth at the back to themselves. The group met twice a week, just in case. When the time came, they knew they would have to move fast.

Sitting hunched forward over the table, Peter Paxton watched the other two in silence for a moment. At fifty two, he was the oldest by a long margin, with a rounded face and dark hair that contrasted with his lean, muscular figure.

He was the one in charge. The other two were only there because Paxton needed them, he wouldn't have chosen them as drinking companions otherwise. It wasn't just the generation gap, and it wasn't just about social status either.

Archie sat staring at the walls as if they weren't there. He was placid. He was quiet – For the moment, anyway. But even Paxton, a man of many years experience in the San Francisco underworld, was slightly afraid of him. There was no telling what he might do next.

And then there was Mikey. There was a different problem with Mikey. And as much as Paxton hoped, that was never going to change.

'Look, Mikey,' said Paxton in hushed tones. 'Just take it easy. So it won't go down this week. That's ok. We'll just wait.'

'Just wait? It's this waiting that the trouble. I don't like it.'

'Just keep your cool,' Paxton said. 'Don't blow it now. We've just gotta wait, that's all.'

'I _don't_ like it,' insisted Mikey. 'The longer we leave it the more chance we have of gettin' caught.'

'No. This ain't the same as the others. We've gotta be careful with this one. We stick to the plan.'

'I don't see why we can't just grab one off the street. The place is crawlin' with 'em. Just grab one and get it over with!'

'No. We've gotta do this properly. We've gotta be careful. We stick to the plan. No exceptions.'

'It's too dangerous, just hoping someone will fall into our trap. We're gonna get caught.'

Paxton scowled at the young man. How many times had they had this conversation over the past three months? How many more times did he have to calm the boy down?

Mikey scowled at Paxton, his blue eyes hard with resentment. Yes, it was the resentment that was going to get him into trouble sooner or later. When that happened… well, Paxton would have to make _very_ sure Mikey didn't talk.

Annoyed, Paxton glanced at Archie, who was still staring through the wall, oblivious to the conversation. No matter how necessary he was at the moment, he would eventually outlive his usefulness too. But hopefully not before he had made Paxton a great deal of money.

'We're not going to get caught .Not if we stick to the plan,' said Paxton. 'We've just gotta get one from the right kinda place. This ain't like the others. We've gotta be very careful. We can't leave the cops any clues.'

'But…'

'But nothing, Mikey,' he said. 'You know the deal, you know what we've all got to lose if this goes wrong. So keep your cool. We shouldn't have to wait too much longer, and then it will be the easiest hundred thousand we ever made!'

* * *


	2. A Working Theory

Chapter 1

A Working Theory

It was the start of another beautiful Californian day. The sun rose across San Francisco, burning off the morning mist in the bay as the city came to life.

In the attic room number forty-eight of the Police Department, the office and private apartment of Chief Robert Ironside, there was activity as well.

Robert Ironside himself, though crippled and confined to a wheelchair, was not the sort of man to lie on in the morning. So he was already awake and dress and finishing his second cup of coffee by the time his sergeant, Ed Brown, walked into the office.

'Good morning, Chief!'

Sergeant Brown trotted lightly down the steps, deliberately missing the ramp that was there for the wheelchair, and headed to the coffee pot. Tall and handsome, with dark hair and a calm presence that women adored, Ed Brown was Ironside's good right arm, and one of the rising stars of the San Francisco Police Department. He could have had any job he wanted, but two years ago Ed had turned it all down, preferring to work with Ironside and be there for his friend during a time when he had really needed it.

Usually so straight and serious, Ed was in an uncharacteristically sunny mood. Though he must have noticed the dark, sombre look on Ironside's face, he didn't comment, but poured himself some black coffee and came over to sit beside his boss.

There was a companionable silence as Ed took a sip from his cup. It was going to be a bitch of a day and, not wanting to spoil the atmosphere, Ironside let the other man relax while he had the chance.

Together, they made up one half of the team. Of the other two, Officer Eve Whitfield would be there any moment, eager for another day at work with her boss. The last member, Mark Sanger was the only non-police officer. Even though the attic where Ironside lived was a good size and had been specially adapted, the Chief still needed help for the simple, mundane tasks that everyone else took for granted. And Mark Sanger was that help. Once, Mark had been just another black kid heading for a destructive life of crime, but now he was Ironside's helper, driver and companion, always there if the Chief needed him.

After savouring the coffee, Ed finally looked round the office in mild surprise.

'So, where's Mark this morning?' he asked.

'Already out, _working_ ,' said Ironside, looking pointedly at Ed, as if to imply that activity was something Ed wasn't used to doing himself. 'I sent him to the Hall of Records.'

The sergeant ignored the veiled rebuke.

'Any particular reason for Mark to leave so early?' Ed asked, still smiling.

'Don't I always have a reason, Sergeant!' replied Ironside, handing over a slim file. 'This came in earlier.'

Ed took one glance at the label, and his good mood vanished.

'You've got to be kidding me,' he said. 'Another one?'

'Yes, another one. The Commissioner can't stop me from looking into this now.'

'You were looking into it anyway,' Ed reminded him.

'Only from a distance. _Now_ it's official.'

'Another body,' murmured Ed. 'That makes seven.'

'Morning, Chief!' came the bright, clear voice of Eve Whitfield. 'Hi, Ed!'

In spite of his dark mood, Ironside smiled as the young, blonde policewoman hung her coat and bag up on the hook by the door, and walked gracefully down the steps to her co-workers.

Seeing Eve would always make the Chief smile. Not only was she beautiful, but clever, dedicated and loyal. She had been on his personal staff for two years. Before that, she had been a wealthy society girl until, by chance, she was a witness in a murder case. Afterwards, they had kept in close contact, and it was Ironside that had suggested to her working for the police.

Once, if his life had gone down a different route, he might have considered acting on his feelings for her; there were hints that those feelings were more than reciprocated, even though there was over two decades between them. But there was more than that between them now, more than just his wheelchair and his disability, as well. She was part of his staff and her safety was his responsibility. He could never let her be put in such a difficult and compromising situation, no matter how he felt about her.

'Good morning, Eve,' Ironside said, giving her a warm smile. Then he turned to his Sergeant. 'I think _you_ should give her the good news.'

'And what good news would that be?' Eve asked, looking at Ed.

'We have another case,' he said, waving the file. 'At least, I assume so, I haven't had the chance to read it yet.'

Eve, sensing the mood, picked up the implications much faster than Ironside would have imagined.

'The beatings? There's been another one?'

Ed nodded.

'It seems so.'

'There's no _seems_ about it, Sergeant,' said Ironside, 'if you took the time to read the report.'

Ed had already opened the file as his boss was speaking, glancing down at the papers inside. Ironside watched as the other man's expression changed from mild concern to deep thoughtfulness. Eve was watching too.

'It certainly sounds like this death is connected to the others,' Ed replied after a few moments. 'But after spending so long in the water, it's not going to be easy to confirm the identification, the body's too far gone. And it's going to be even less easy to link this one to the other six deaths.'

'Assuming there is a link,' said Eve. 'This sort of thing happens all the time, Chief, what makes you think there's a connection between these cases, and not any of the other bodies they've fished out of the Bay?'

It was a familiar objection. Ironside didn't just tolerate his team asking questions, he encouraged it when he could. They all had to understand each other, and what was going on in a case. They all trusted Ironside implicitly, and they had earned the right to question his judgement if they needed to.

'Call it instinct,' said Ironside. 'These killings all have the same theme to them.'

'Theme?'

'Fit, healthy, young men, all beaten to death.' He looked up at Eve. 'Doesn't that strike you as odd?'

'Apart from the M.O., they're all different. Different jobs, different backgrounds, different lifestyles.'

'They're all dead.'

'All the others had one other thing in common,' added Ed. 'They'd all called in sick a few days before and hadn't been seen around. And they have no family. No one to notice if they're gone.'

Ironside nodded.

'It's almost like they had been _selected_ ,' he said. 'But there's something missing, something to link them together, and we've got to find it.' He turned to look at Sergeant Brown. 'That's what you're going to do, Ed. Find friends, acquaintances, housekeepers. Everyone and anyone who knew them. Talk to them personally. I want to know everything you can find out.'

Ed nodded, but made no move towards the door. Ironside scowled at him.

'Mark's _already_ hard at work, going through the files at the Hall of Records.'

'I bet he got to finish his coffee before he left,' murmured Ed.

'No, Sergeant he didn't!'

Ed and Eve exchanged glances, and Ed gulped down a last mouthful of hot coffee before putting the cup down on the table with a clunk.

'I'm on it right now,' Ed replied with a grin as he stood up and headed out of the office.

'Keep me posted,' Ironside called after him.

'Sure thing, Chief.'

'What about me?' Eve asked as the door shut behind the Sergeant. Ironside raised his eyebrows in a questioning manner, but he guessed that Eve already knew the answer to her own question.

'You an I, Officer Whitfield, are going to see the Commissioner.'

* * *

Commission Dennis Randall waited until Ironside had rolled his wheelchair to the desk and Eve had taken a seat at the window of the office before he looked up from his paper.

'What do you want, Bob?' there was a frosty, and resigned tone to Commissioner Randall's voice today.

It wasn't as if Ironside had expected a warm welcome, even though Dennis Randall was the one who'd helped him keep working after the shooting. He was the one who'd given his the job as a special consultant, and given him the office to live and work in. But the Commissioner knew the Chief very, _very_ well indeed, and knew well enough when Ironside was there to pry a favour out of him.

Ironside knew he would win. He almost always did. But Commissioner Randall never made it easy.

'Good morning to you, Dennis,' he said in a jovial tone. The Commissioner narrowed his eyes.

'You don't need to ask,' Randall said. 'You're still nosing around those homicides for the past few weeks. I suppose you want the case.'

'That's right. I want that case.'

Technically, Ironside was assigned cases, but he could usually count on getting any case he asked for, such was the leverage provided by an old friendship.

'I thought you might. I gather you think these deaths are connected, even though Homicide has been all over them already.'

'I don't think, I know. And I'm in an _excellent_ position to prove it.' The Commissioner's expression remained fixed. 'I have Ed and Mark working on it right now.'

'Wasting no time?'

'Wasting no time,' echoed Ironside.

The Commissioner stood up with a resigned sigh. Ironside was surprised. It seemed that Dennis had given in much more easily this time.

'Why just these six men?' he asked.

'Seven,' corrected Ironside.

' _Seven_ , then. All young fit and healthy, beaten to death and dumped by the Bay. That doesn't sound like anything out of the ordinary to me.'

'It sounds out of the ordinary to _me_ ,' retorted Ironside.

Randall looked keenly at Ironside.

'You obviously have a theory, Bob,' said the Commissioner. 'I suggest you spit it out.'

'Bottom line? I think they were killed in fights. Three of them had been amateur boxers at some point. One other worked at a gym. All were well able to defend themselves.'

'I don't see your point.'

'All young and fit, all seemed to have put up a struggle.'

Ironside handed the Commissioner a photograph from one of the autopsies.

'See his hands? It looks to me like he was in a fight. Tough one too.'

'Hmm… but fights happen, Bob.'

'These were not just any old fight or a bar brawl.'

He looked at Randall expectantly.

'You think they were paid?' the Commissioner asked.

'I think they were all fighting for money. I think it got out of hand, and they were killed.'

Commissioner Randall regarded his friend carefully.

'A fighting ring? Here? Bob, that sounds…'

'I know what you're going to say, so I'll save you the trouble, and say it for you. If there was a ring we would _know_.'

'We have informants all over the City, we would have heard something. These deaths have been happening for months. Someone would know.'

'I don't agree Dennis,' Ironside said. 'Just because we haven't heard means that we haven't been listening.'

'Or there's nothing to hear. You couldn't keep something like this quiet. Not with seven deaths.'

'Homicide has been all over these deaths, Bob, and they didn't turn anything up. What makes you think you will?'

'Homicide is overworked, understaffed and underpaid,' Ironside replied. 'Lieutenant Burwell has other things on his mind.'

'And you don't?'

'I would have thought you would appreciate me taking an interest,' Ironside said bluntly.

'Think about it, Dennis. These deaths are not officially connected. Homicide has no leads and no one is following up. And whoever knows what's going on has enough money and power to make sure that it stays quiet.'

'You would rather believe conspiracy than serial killings?' Ironside nodded. 'Those are pretty big assumptions.'

'Nevertheless, Dennis, _that's_ the theory I'm working on.'

There was a pause.

'And do you have a chief suspect?' said the Commissioner wearily.

'I do.'

'And are you going to tell me who it is?'

It was Ironside's turn to hesitate. Then he gave the Commissioner his finest smile.

'Mister John Carlson fits the bill nicely.'

* * *


	3. Assignment

Chapter 2

Assignment

Mark was waiting for them when they arrived, sitting at the desk reading some of the files.

'Hey, Chief,' he called. 'How was the Commissioner?'

'Furious,' replied Eve. 'I don't ever recall hearing language like that from him before.'

Mark looked from her to Ironside in shock.

'This is the same Commissioner we're talking about? Well, what did you say to him?'

'I said that our chief suspect in the homicides was John Carlson,' Ironside replied.

'Carlson? _John_ Carlson?'

'Yes, Mark. John Carlson? Why does everyone around here have such difficultly with that?'

'It's a big name, that's why,' replied Mark.

'But really, Chief. Carlson?' echoed Eve incredulously. ' _The_ John Carlson?'

The disbelief was starting to annoy him. He scowled.

'Yes, Eve, _the_ John Carlson.'

'But why him?'

'He has the connections and the money,' started Ironside.

'So do at least ten other men in the city,' objected Eve.

'He also has the taste for blood,' said Ironside. 'A ring like that would be _exactly_ what he would organise for his own amusement.'

Ironside saw Eve and Mark exchange glances.

'I've never heard anything about that,' said Eve. 'Nothing at all.'

'I knew him a long time ago, from before he cleaned up his act and went straight as a fight promoter. _And_ made all the big money.'

'I see.'

'But John Carlson, Chief,' said Mark. 'No wonder the Commissioner wasn't pleased. If you're wrong, he's going to have a lot of explaining to do.'

'If I'm _right_ , I'm going to have a lot of explaining to do.'

'You're telling me, man,' said Mark, a grin suddenly across his face. 'And, even if you are right, taking Carlson down isn't going to be easy.'

Ironside grunted a response. There was no doubt his team supported him but Mark, as always, had gone straight to the crux of the problem. Getting to John Carlson wasn't going to be easy at all. In the old days it would have been more simple, Carlson had a list of vices as long as his bank account, but not anymore. On the surface, Carlson was as shiny and clean as the Commissioner himself.

'What's our first move, Chief?' asked Eve.

Ironside looked at the two people in front of him thoughtfully. He had the start of an idea, but he didn't want to say anything to either of them at the moment. The best way to approach this was to get as much information as possible, before he put any plan into action.

'Where's Ed?' he asked.

'He'll be back late,' said Mark. 'He called in. Seems he's having a hard time.'

'Well, it's not going to get any easier,' said Ironside. 'What about you? How did you get on at the Hall of records.'

Mark smiled and handed him a small pile of folders with a flourish.

'I've found another three possibles,' said Mark. 'All young men, less than thirty, all beaten. All dead. And then there's this.'

Mark handed a slim file to the Chief.

'What's this?'

'I was saving this, Chief,' said Mark. 'Ronnie Stevens.'

The Chief opened the file and flicked through it.

'What's so special about Ronnie Stevens?' asked Eve.

Ironside frowned, trying to think back. He had heard the name before, recently.

'Stevens… Stevens… a car accident?'

'Yes, Chief, hit and run.'

'Ten months ago. But before that he was picked up in the street, beaten and dumped, just like all the others. MO's not exactly the same but a close match. And he was the first, a good two months before all the rest. It could have been a trial run, then someone got him out of the way.'

'Good work, Mark. How did you find him?'

'I was speaking to the desk sergeant. He remembered him and pointed me in the direction of his file.'

'Interesting,' said Ironside slowly. 'And maybe our first connection to Carlson.'

Mark grinned again at Ironside, but Eve looked confused.

'A connection?' asked Eve.

'Stevens was a small-time hustler,' said Mark. 'Mostly fights, according to his record.'

'But did he know Carlson?' said Ironside. 'And, maybe more _importantly_ , did Carlson know him.'

'I'll get right on it, Chief,' said Mark. 'I know a few cats who…'

'No you will _not_ ,' Ironside told him sharply.

The other man looked surprised, but he didn't question his boss. Ironside turned to Eve, handing her the files.

'Get everything you can one the people in these files. Records, family, friends, and make sure we get the autopsy reports too.'

'Sure, Chief,' she said. 'And then…?' asked Eve.

'That will keep you busy enough.'

There was an uncomfortable silence. Eve and Mark were looking at him, waiting for him to say something else. But instead, Ironside wheeled himself off towards the other table. Neither of his two staff members had moved. He looked back round at them with a fierce scowl.

'What are you waiting for?' he snapped. 'A promotion?'

* * *

It was already dark, and Eve had left for the evening by the time Sergeant Brown reappeared at Headquarters.

Ironside himself had all but given up on seeing Ed before the next day, but not long after a dinner of chili and bourbon, and as Ironside was finishing off the last of the urgent paperwork, the sergeant appeared at the door.

It was hard to believe that this was the same man who had started the day in such a good mood. Ed walked forwards down the ramp and sat down heavily in one of the chairs by the desk, just beside his boss. He dropped the files he carried on the desk with a satisfying slap, sat back and closed his eyes for a few moments.

'It's all done, Chief,' he said.

Ironside regarded his sergeant with mild surprise.

'All of them?'

'All of them. Every single one done and dusted, Chief.'

Ironside let him sit for a moment.

'Well, are you going to _tell_ us about it?' he asked. 'Or are you just going to sit there sulking for the rest of the evening?'

Ed pushed himself upright, giving the Chief a dulled smile.

'You want the short version or the long version?'

' _Any_ version would be an improvement,' snapped Ironside.

'I struck out, in either version,' Ed replied, the disappointment and frustration showing clearly in his voice. 'I've got nothing to add to the homicide reports. These guys were nobodies. They worked, they shopped, they lived, but no one really remembers them. I couldn't find friends. I couldn't find family. It's like they just appeared out of nowhere.'

'So, another productive day,' said Ironside. His sergeant looked back without smiling.

'What about you?' asked Ed, glancing at Mark.

'Eve and I have been busy with the files,' said Mark. 'All day.'

'Files?' echoed Ed. 'Well, I hope you both had a pleasant time, while I was out on the streets.'

'We do have a suspect.'

For a moment, Ed looked pleased, but then he must have seen the expression on Mark's face.

'Who?' he asked the Chief. There was a short pause. 'I'm not gonna like it, am I?'

'John Carlson,' said Mark, beating Ironside to the punch.

Ed gave a short laugh before he realised that neither of the other two men were smiling. He stared at his boss.

'He's not kidding, is he?' asked Ed.

'He's not kidding,' replied Mark.

'John _Carlson_ …?'

'Yes, Ed, John Carlson. Is that a problem for you?' Ironside's tone almost dared Ed to question him, but the sergeant knew him too well to rise to the offered bait. After a moment, Ed just shrugged.

'Don't worry, sergeant, and don't give up just yet,' said Ironside, his smile ironic. 'Eve has left another list for you to start on tomorrow morning. Don't bother coming in, just go straight from home.'

'You're sure I am allowed home?' said Ed. 'I wouldn't want you to think I was wasting time sleeping.'

'A good night's sleep isn't mandatory in this job, Sergeant. But I'll allow it just this once.'

Ed frowned, but after a moment, gave a slight smile. He glanced at his watch.

'Then I'll see you tomorrow sometime.'

'No chili?' said Mark. 'I saved you some.'

Ed shook his head.

'You got a hot date?' asked Mark.

'Only with eight hours sleep,' replied Ed.

* * *

That night, Robert Ironside slept badly.

Immobilised, unable to toss and turn, he tried in vain to shift his position into something resembling comfort.

Undercover was the best way to go. It was the only way they were going to get answers fast enough.

The idea had been growing all day.

At first, he dismissed it as impractical, but after hearing what Ed had to say, and watching Mark and Eve struggle to find leads in the files, he had grown convinced that that was what was needed.

There was the question of permission from the Commissioner. He wasn't going to be best pleased. But Ironside had no doubt that Dennis would come round.

Mark had been a pro boxer once; he knew the right things to say, and the right places to go. Eve… Ironside mentally sighed when he thought of her… Eve was young, and pretty and _blonde_ ; that would attract the attention of a man like Carlson in a second. Having her close to their man would be an advantage. And Eve was good enough to pull it off.

The more he thought about it, the more Ironside was sure that was the way he had to go. If he was going to try for Carlson, he would have to be quick. They would only have one shot to take him down.

And it would be dangerous. Very, very dangerous, he had no doubts about that. No one in his team would flinch from their jobs, but none of them would be pleased with this assignment.

Mark wasn't going to like it. He wouldn't want to leave Ironside on his own to go undercover like this. Ironside didn't like to put him in danger, but he knew Mark well enough to know that he would be furious if he wasn't considered.

Eve wasn't going to like it, either. But like Mark, she would be insulted if she thought that Ironside didn't trust her enough to do her job. She was a highly competent police officer, trained in judo as well. She could certainly look after herself. But he didn't want to see her in the lion's den, so vulnerable. Even if Ed tailed her, she would still be on her own with possibly a very dangerous and ruthless man.

And Ed… he was going to be the least pleased of them all. He would be saddled with all the dull, necessary police work, all the small jobs, all the time-consuming tasks, as well as keeping an eye on Eve, and keeping everything ticking over in the office, not to mention helping Ironside himself. Ed was going to be swamped.

The simplest solution would to get outside help from within the department. But that would look too obvious. And the last thing Ironside wanted to be was obvious.

If they were going after Carlson, it had to be quick and quiet.

And it had to start tomorrow.

* * *


	4. The Big Wide World

Chapter 3  
The Big Wide World

Neither Mark nor Eve had argued with him.

Or rather, Ironside hadn't given them the chance to argue, and he'd willfully ignored the subtle difference. Both of them were enthusiastic about their assignments when he had spoken to them. Undercover work was dangerous, but could be very rewarding and this time it would bring them the evidence they needed, Ironside was sure.

The only proper problem was going to be Commissioner Randall. He wasn't going to be pleased with this turn of events. Ironside had known him for a long time, and understood the way he thought.

The Chief had anticipated some of Randall's objections, and making sure Mark and Eve were well briefed was vital, so they talked for two hours, discussing the case and their covers. Only after that did Ironside travel across town to see the Commissioner in his own office.

They were shown straight in, and Dennis was waiting for them, looking more stern than usual. Ironside wheeled himself forward, letting Mark and Eve keep well out of the line of fire.

There was a file on Randall's desk, and Ironside recognised his own report into the case, including his request for authorisation to go undercover. Dennis was waiting for Ironside to speak, but the Chief waited too, feeling that if he spoke first, he would lose the air of confidence he had by appearing too eager to justify himself.

The two men stared at each other. Finally, Commissioner Randall looked away first.

'You know I don't like it, Bob,' Dennis said with a heavy sigh. 'It's far too dangerous.'

'I realise that,' Ironside replied. 'So do my team. Only a fool would think that it was anything else.'

The Commissioner clearly didn't like being agreed with in these circumstances. He frowned.

'There will be considerable danger, to both of them.' The Commissioner looked at Eve and Mark, then back to Ironside. 'This is a big risk, maybe too big a risk. Especially to Mark.'

That was always going to be the weakest part of Ironside's plan as, strictly speaking, Mark wasn't a police officer. But he had the insider knowledge of the fight scene that Ironside needed, without him they could only look in from the outside. They needed someone who could get them in. Mark's cover was vital.

'I don't need to tell you why we need Mark,' Ironside said. 'But he'll have the minimum of exposure. He'll be in an out in a few hours.'

'A lot can go wrong in a few hours,' said Dennis darkly.

'I can take care of myself,' said Mark.

'I don't doubt that, Mark. But if you're right, Bob, and these people have killed...' the Commissioner trailed off.

'I know what I'm doing,' said Mark.

'We all do,' said Ironside firmly.

There was a short pause, and the Chief felt his confidence rising.

'I'm still not inclined to give my blessing to this, Bob,' said the Commissioner.

'But all the evidence points to a well organised and well funded organisation,' replied Ironside. 'And John Carlson has that organisation. We have to find a way in, quickly, before any more people die.'

'I don't think the evidence is like that at all,' replied Randall.

Anxious not to annoy his friend any more than was necessary, Ironside leaned forward earnestly in his wheelchair.

'Speed is the key,' he told the Commissioner. 'At the moment, they think no one is interested, but the minute they realise we _are_ , the evidence is going to get a whole lot harder to find. And a lot _more_ dangerous for everyone.'

The Commissioner nodded reluctantly, perhaps unwilling to concede the point.

'With both Eve and Mark undercover, you're going to be short staffed,' said Randall. Ironside gave an inward smile. If Dennis had resorted to _that_ old one, this was going to be a lot easier than he'd expected. But he couldn't let his hopes show on the outside, or Dennis would know something was up.

'I can manage for just a few days!' he said grumpily. 'I'm not _totally_ helpless, Dennis. And Ed will be close at hand.'

Randall nodded slowly and turned to gaze out of the window, to the busy city beyond. Ironside watched in silence. His instincts were telling him that the case was on, and Dennis would agree.

After a long minute of staring, and keeping them all waiting, the Commissioner turned back to Ironside. He wasn't smiling, but the Chief was still confident.

'Ok, Bob, you win,' said Randall. 'You can have one week, but that's all. And you two,' he turned to look at Eve and Mark, 'take no risks. That's an order!'

* * *

It was already well past four, and Ed had been working since seven. He hadn't taken long to find the right place, and fortunately, this was the last one on his list.

He'd had a full day of chasing after leads, with _very_ little success, and he didn't have his hopes pinned too high for the last one, either. He hadn't even managed to contact the Chief, so he had no idea how the others were getting on with their part of the case. He just hoped they were getting on better than him, or the Chief's hopes of getting this closed up quickly were going to dampened to nothing. And Ironside wasn't going to like _that_ one bit.

Ed paused outside the building for a moment, looking up at the balconies and windows above, trying to gather his thoughts.

This was just another part of his job, being the messenger of death. He'd done it more times than he cared to remember. Doing the same thing, again and again didn't make it any easier, but in some sense he was used to grief. He was used to seeing how people reacted, and being the outsider at a very personal time.

It should have been the ones with family that were the worst. There were tears and the overwhelming sense of anguish and loss. But every so often he would get one where there was nobody to tell, and nobody cared. To Ed, that was the worst. These were the faceless, and sometimes nameless, people that had no one waiting for news, and no one to care if they lived or died; people who'd become just bodies on a slab.

This last body had been that of Scott Thompson, who had been fished out of the bay last night. In life, he had been a young mechanic that scraped a living as an apprentice in a small garage. This time, no one had even bothered to report him missing. There had been on formal identification, the dental records had been good enough, and the post mortem had shown he'd been beaten, then dumped; exactly the same MO as all the others.

Now, it was Ed's job to go and find the place where he'd lived, and tell whoever was there that Scott Thompson wasn't coming back.

After a day of dead-end leads and morbid work, it was the very last thing he wanted to do. But this was the final one, and then he could go back to the relative calm of Ironside's office, away from the harsh realities of police work.

With a deep breath, he steeled himself one more time, and pushed open the door.

As apartments went, it wasn't a bad place to stay; it was reasonably clean, but small and probably cheap. The neighbourhood was rough, but not as bad as it could have been, and there were sturdy-looking locks on the outside doors. The hall was plainly decorated and dark, and it was quitet, not one responded when Ed walked in. The first room on the right had its door half-open and inside Ed could hear the sound of the TV, played a little too loudly. He glanced through the gap, and saw an old man sitting on a tatty old sofa, avidly watching a music program.

Ed guessed the man would be the landlord or the caretaker, and rapped sharply on the door.

'Come! Come!' called the old man, waving a hand and not looking away from the TV. 'Come in!'

Ed pushed open the door, alarmed by the amount of junk that such a small room could hold. He carefully stepped forward through the piles of papers and boxes and old magazines, hoping not to bump into a anything and cause a knock-on avalanche of rubbish.

The old man still hadn't turned round, so Ed pulled out his badge and lowered it in front of the other man's face, between him and the TV.

'Oh!' said the old man. 'The police!'

'Yes, sir,' said Ed, tucking his badge away. 'I would like to ask…'

The old man hushed him with a wave.

'I only have a few minutes left!' he said, gesturing at the TV. 'Then I'll talk to you!'

'This will only take a moment.'

'Shh. _Shh!_ '

At the end of a long day, Ed was more than tempted to snap back, but restrained himself. There was nothing to be gained from annoying the man, besides he's been at this all day and another couple of minutes wasn't going to make much difference.

As he waited, he glanced around the room, at the mountains of books and magazines that were gathered there, in an unceremonious jumble. The only clear space was a thin channel between the main door and the seat, and the seat and the TV.

At last, the music died down and the old man gave a grunt and pushed himself up to turn the television off. Only then did he look round at Ed.

'Let me see that shiny badge again, son,' he said, holding out his hand.

Ed pulled his badge back out of his pocket, and handed it over. The man studied it, and Ed had the chance to study him.

He was less than sixty, but not by much, about five-seven, and at least forty pounds overweight for his height. He had a rounded, almost cheeky, smiling face, with thinning grey hair and a slightly squint nose, as if it had been broken at some time in the past. He was wearing a dark blue overall, with the name of _Lincoln_ printed on the breast pocket.

The man passed the badge back to Ed with a small smile.

'I'm Ron Lincoln,' he said. 'Caretaker, for what it's worth. And what do you want with me, Sergeant Brown?'

'I'm here about Scott Thompson,' Ed replied.

'What you want with him? He ain't left nothing here, if that's what you mean.'

'Well…' Ed hesitated, suddenly unsure.

Sergeant Brown was a man who lived off his instincts every single day. In a high-risk profession like police work, if he didn't listen to his instincts he was likely to end up dead. And since he'd started working so closely with the Chief, Ed's instincts had acquired a new depth.

Today, right then and there, something felt _off_. Maybe it was the stance of the other man, or the tone of his voice, or just the wording of his question, but Ed's sense of danger suddenly went thought the roof. But he didn't show any outward signs that anything was wrong. He gave a slight frown.

'Whaddya want with him?' insisted Lincoln. 'He's a good lad, and I liked him. I don't want no trouble.'

'I'm afraid… he's dead,' Ed told him.

'Dead? Young Thompson? Shame. Dead?'

Ed nodded.

'When? How?'

Ed didn't feel like giving a proper answer, so instead he just shrugged.

'We're looking into that,' he replied. 'I need to ask you a few questions.'

'Sure.'

'When did you last see him?'

'Two months ago. Maybe three. Just walked out one day and never came back here.'

'But you didn't report him missing?'

Lincoln gave Ed a look.

'Thought he'd done runner. Maybe gone back home. They do sometimes. Thought he'd decided the grass wasn't so green after all and gone running back to ma and pa.'

'He didn't have any relatives,' Ed replied.

'Oh. Didn't know that.'

'Did he say anything before he left?'

'Not really, just that he was going to be away for a few days. Out somewhere. But he looked excited.'

Ed frowned again, and nodded. His odd feeling was still there, and talking to Lincoln wasn't helping him feel any better.

'And what was he like, Scott Thompson?'

Lincoln gave a shrug, now looking almost disinterested.

'I don't know. A good enough tenant, if that's what you mean. Paid up mostly on time. Nice quiet lad. Didn't see no one with him ever. And he worked a lot down at Pete's place on the corner. Not such a good mechanic, mind you.'

Ed nodded. Pete's place was his previous stop, and he'd got almost exactly the same story there.

'And what about his room, all of his belongings?' asked Ed. 'Do you still have them?'

Unlikely though that was, it would at least be something to start with, but his small hopes were quickly dashed when Lincoln shook his head.

'Gone. No one came round for it. And he owed me two months rent by the end of the lease, so I sold it off! Don't like doing it, but I got my own problems. They know the rules when they sign up. And it's all above board too.'

Ed frowned, thinking that this was going to be another waste of time. He'd been chasing dead leads all day and it was getting to be habit-forming. He had one final hope.

'Well,' Ed asked, 'did you keep anything? Stuff that wouldn't sell. Papers. Cards. Mail?'

'What? Why should I keep anything? Does it look like I have the room?'

Ed had to agree with him there, and he would have said as much, when suddenly Lincoln interrupted.

'Wait here! There might be something…'

The old man shuffled off to the hall, leaving Ed to stare around the room once more. There was silence for a minute, then came the faint noise of shuffling and rummaging, and the possibility of the occasional swear word after a particularly large thump.

About five minute later, Lincoln was back, holding a small bundle of envelopes.

'Was gonna burn them,' he told Ed, handing the bundle over. 'But it's been so hot that I never bothered. So I left them out by the dustbins.'

'These are Scott Thompson's?'

'Well, I suppose. But he never saw them. Arrived about the same time he left. I left them in the post box for him and forgot clean about them until a few weeks ago. And I thought I'd just burn then and not let them go to waste.'

Ed glanced down at the envelopes in his hand. It was difficult to tell it they were personal letters or business ones, but either way, it was the only piece of good solid information he'd had all day. He tucked them into his pocket.

'Well, thank you Mr Lincoln,' he said, turning to the door. 'I'll be in touch if I need anything else.'

Lincoln nodded and gave a thin smile.

'And thank you, Sergeant Brown. Maybe I'll see you again.'

* * *


	5. Plans, More Plans, And Getting Drunk

Chapter 4

Plans, More Plans, And Getting Drunk

Ironside was not in a good mood by the time Ed showed up at the office. Sergeant Brown had been off the scope all day, and Ironside didn't like not knowing what was going on.

'Where is everybody?' asked Ed as he came in.

'They're _working_ ,' Ironside told him.

Ed glanced up at clock.

'It's late, you sure they haven't gone home early?'

'They're undercover.'

Ed stopped halfway down the ramp.

'Undercover? Eve? _Mark_!?'

Ironside nodded.

'Why I am always the last to know?' Ed asked, half-jokingly. But Ironside scowled.

'Maybe if you called in every so often, you wouldn't be so ignorant of what your colleagues are doing.'

'I called three times,' Ed replied much more calmly than Ironside expected. He understood the Chief's moods, and had clearly decided he was going to try the reasonable approach. He went over to the kitchen area and collected a mug of coffee off the stove.

'So when's Mark due back?' he asked.

'I don't know.'

'So who's here to help you?'

'I'm not a baby needing spoon-fed, Sergeant!' snapped Ironside.

'Sorry, Chief,' replied Ed quickly.

'But you can stay in Mark's room while he's not here.'

Ed gave an audible sigh as he moved forward from the stairs to sit down beside his boss at the desk. He took a slow sip from his coffee, savouring it. Ironside frowned all the more deeply.

'Is my _company_ really so bad, Sergeant Brown?'

'No, sir!'

'Did you have other plans for this evening?'

The moment's hesitation told Ironside that Ed had indeed planned something else, probably involving a shapely young lady.

'Well, now you mention it…' started Ed.

'There _are_ more important things than your love life, you know.'

'Yes, Chief,' agreed Ed with a slight smile.

'There are more important things, like your report,' said Ironside hotly. 'Care to tell me what you've been doing all day? Or did ordinary _police_ _work_ slip you mind?'

Ed reached into his pocket and pulled out a small bundle of tanned letters, tied with fraying, old string. He tossed it onto the table.

'That's it,' he said.

Ironside picked up the bundle and looked questioningly as Ed.

'I'm sorry Chief, but that's all I have. They're from the landlord at Scott Thompson's apartment.'

Ironside flicked through the letters then he glanced back at the sergeant with a critical air.

'Well, that's not much for a full day's work,' he said.

'There's nothing more,' Ed replied with a heavy sigh. 'I've been through everything I can think of. Either people don't know or aren't talking. And all I've done is go round in circles.'

'And you've talked to them all?'

'There's nothing new to add to the reports,' Ed insisted. 'Nothing.' Ironside glared at him, and Ed obviously felt the need to clarify himself. 'I can't find a single thing to link any of the men with anyone connected with fights, let alone John Carlson.' he said. 'No one saw anything. No one knows anything. If these men were picked, whoever did it covered their tracks very, very well. No one saw _anything_.'

'But grown men don't just disappear into thin air, Sergeant.'

'I know,! Ed replied, a snap in his tone this time.

'Not all seven of them.'

'I know! But _I_ can't find a new angle.'

'Then what's wrong?' Ironside demanded. 'Can't you do your job?'

Ed pursed his lips, looking away, and for a moment Ironside wondered if he'd gone too far. Then Ed lifted his head, looking straight back at his boss.

'There's nothing to find,' Ed replied steadily. 'These men walked out of their apartments, their jobs, their lives one day and were fished out of the Bay the next. Whatever they were going, they hid it. And they hid it well.'

Ironside drew a long breath in, fighting the desire to argue with his sergeant. But Ed had been the one out working on this and he knew what he was doing. Besides, it wasn't fair to take his frustration and worry about Eve and Mark out on Ed.

'Alright, then Ed. Get your report done, the whole thing, while it's still in your mind, and I'll get us some dinner. Early tomorrow morning we'll try a different tactic.' Ed looked up, curious and Ironside smiled. 'We'll go and see John Carlson.'

Ed's face remained deadpan.

'And that's going to help?'

'I hope so, Sergeant.' Ironside thought of Mark and Eve, out on assignment, and he gave a sigh. 'I hope so.'

* * *

The music thrummed loudly in Mark's ears. A tangle of bodies moved to the beat, there was a heavy mist of smoke in the air and the smell of alcohol was everywhere. It was getting on his nerves. Undercover, you weren't supposed to drink.

Mark had been in the Blue Corner Club since nine last night and it was now past four in the morning, he occasionally caught a glimpse of lightening sky through the narrow window of the Club. Undercover work had looked glamorous to begin with, but in fact he had found it tedious after only a couple of hours. But he had hung out at the Club, sure that this was as good a place as any, and fortunately his perseverance was beginning to pay off. People were loosening up, talking more any more. But he still wasn't making any _real_ headway.

Earlier, he'd spoken to a couple of his old fighting buddies, and both of them had suggested this place as the most likely place to start. Anyone who was anyone in the scene came here at some point. Carlson himself was rumoured to show up every once in a while as well. For most of the night he'd talked about fights; talk but no concrete details. Though Mark knew his way around the fight scene, he had no idea there was so many fights going on underground. The Chief could easily be right, there were so many opportunities for rigging fights up. A man with money and a few connections could do it and still keep a lid on it. Something like that would be easy for John Carlson.

Tired from the long night, thirsty and growing discouraged by the whole job, Mark was just wondering how much longer he would hang before he called it in, when he noticed someone new coming through the doorway.

As Mark watched, people surreptitiously moved away from the man, quietly stepping back and keeping out of his way as he walked over to the bar. Everyone in the Club was aware of his presence, and Mark wondered who he was. As the man ordered a beer, other people drifted away from the bar. Whoever that guy was, nobody like him.

Over the next half hour, Mark kept an eye on that man. He didn't speak much, and drank alone. The only other person to get close stood next to him, drinking in silence, sticking nearby like a shadow. Mark watched patiently from a distance, waiting to see what they did. Eventually, as time wore on, and the man got more drinks into him, Mark decided to take a chance and ambled over. He stood next to the two men, and ordered a double.

'Haven't see you around here before,' said the man. He was as tall as Mark, broad and powerful; Mark could tell a fighter when he saw one. But at the moment, he had a heavy, glazed expression, with no sign of the cat-like reflexes a fighter needed to win. His voice was slightly slurred, and the smell of alcohol was heavy on his breath.

'Not in town for long,' said Mark. 'Looking for somewhere to relax. Maybe some action, too.'

'You need a drink!' said the man. 'Freddie, get this man another one. Another double. And mine.'

Freddie the barman nodded, and produced a pair of double bourbons in a matter of seconds. Mark looked at it hesitantly. He would have to drink that if he was going to stay in cover. The man picked up his drink and knocked it back in a single mouthful. He looked at Mark, expecting him to do the same. Trying not to think of what his boss would say, Mark tossed the drink back, his eyes suddenly watering from the strength of it.

The man clapped him hard on the back.

'Good! Have another!'

'Archie. take it easy!'

Mark looked up. The second man, the shadow in the background, had come over. He ignored Mark, and was staring at Mark's new drinking buddy.

'I'm fine,' said Archie to the shadow-man. 'I'm just getting my friend here a drink. What's wrong with that, Mikey?'

Mikey turned to look at Mark. While Archie was tall and loud and imposing, Mikey was the opposite. Looking at him gave Mark the urge to check his wallet. Instead, Mark grinned.

'Peace out, man,' he said in a friendly way.

'Yeah, well, we might see you round,' said Mikey, giving Archie a small scowl. 'We got to go.'

'No. We don't.' Archie looking to his drink. 'My new buddy here was going to get me another drink.'

'Archie…?'

Archie glared up at his shadow, a hash, vicious stare and Mikey took a step back. After a moment, Mikey smiled at Mark, half-hearted but a still a smile.

'How about I get the next round?' said Mikey.

Mark had little choice but to agree, if he wanted to get more information out of them.

The morning wore on, and Mark slowly became drunker and drunker, out of his depth when it came to drinking with these two. Archie had clearly taken a liking to Mark, whatever Mikey thought, or possibly _because_ of what Mikey thought and Mark was happy enough to use that to get information.

There were a lot of fights, he found that out pretty quickly, most of them weren't licensed. No one here thought anything of it. Archie claimed to fight every few weeks. It was just a quick way to make a few bucks. Mark was careful not to mention anything about the bodies in the Bay, but he did recognise one of the names Archie mentioned: Scott Thompson. It wasn't much, but at least it was some sort of connection.

The conversation lurched from topic to topic, booze, junk, and girls, with all three of them getting increasingly drunk on doubles. Interestingly, the more Mikey drank, the less anxious and more talkative he became, relaxing in Mark's company.

Slowly, Mark drew the conversation back to fights, struggling inside against the waves of drunkenness that were making it difficult to concentrate. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this high.

'How do you do it?' Mark asked eventually. 'Don't the cops know? It _is_ illegal!'

Archie laughed in a malicious way.

'The cops don't care,' said Mikey. 'Why would they care if we're paid to knock the sense out of each other? They got other things to do, and we just stay out of their way.'

'Damn cops,' muttered Archie. 'They gonna get what's coming to them real soon.'

Mark frowned at Archie. He didn't like the way the man had said that. It sounded like he really meant it.

'Knock it off,' said Mikey with a drunken laugh, looking keenly at Mark. 'He's just kidding, man!'

'Cop's gonna get it!' insisted Archie.

Mikey looked embarrassed and angry, but Mark smiled back.

'Yeah, man,' he said. 'The fuzz is _always_ on my case. Been in and out of the pen since I was old enough to steal cars.'

Archie gave a twisted smiled and laughed.

'You've seen it, man, you and all the other blacks,' said Archie. 'Cops hate the blacks. Cops hate everyone. Ain't got nothing good about them. Gonna get it soon. Very so-' The rest was cut off, as a murmur spread round the room.

'About time,' Mark heard Mikey mutter. 'Thought he'd never show.'

'Who?'

'Who d'ya think? The _man_!'

Mikey jerked his head to the door and much to Mark's surprise, he saw John Carlson walking in, smiling and joking, attracting all the attention of the room. But even more to his surprise, he caught sight of a very familiar figure walking just behind Carlson, obviously part of his group. Mark frowned, unsure what to do next.

Her clothes were garish and bright and certainly not the latest fashion, but there was no mistaking who it was.

It was Eve!

* * *


	6. The Man Himself

Chapter 5

The Man Himself

The phone rang at just after five.

Fortunately for Ironside, a half-dress and half-asleep Ed Brown was awake enough to stagger over to answer before it stopped. The Chief waited in bed as Ed brought the phone over.

'Mark,' said Brown, with a slight slur, and Ironside watched in mild amusement as Ed slumped onto a nearby chair, put his arms on the desk, laid down his head, and closed his eyes.

'Yes, what is it Mark? You'd better have a good reason for disturbing _my_ sleep like this.'

From the way he was speaking, Ironside quickly realised that Mark was blind, stinking drunk, but he told him everything he'd seen and heard with remarkable detail, and a surprisingly concise way. He told him about Archie and Mikey, and the way that everyone avoid them, and that they seemed to be a good lead.

'Good work, Mark,' said Ironside. 'You can get back here.'

'Well… no.'

'No?'

'I'm gonna stick around,' he said.

'Mark, that isn't a good idea.'

'I'm in something, man,' said Mark. 'Something's going down, and these two are involved.'

'Mark…' It was to soon, and almost too easy. The last thing he wanted was Mark fished out of the Bay tomorrow morning. 'I could order you to come back.'

'You'd just have to fire me, as I'm not the fuzz,' came the slightly smug reply.

'Mark, this isn't a game.'

'I can handle it. I know what I'm doing. They trust me.'

'This isn't a good idea.'

'But it's the only lead you have at the moment.' Again Mark was making infuriating sense. 'Look, man, it's cool. I'm gonna go somewhere close by to sleep off this hangover. Archie asked me to go along. They've got this pad downtown.'

'What did you say?'

'I said I just had to cancel my date,' he replied with a laugh. 'They're waiting for me.'

'I don't like this Mark,' said Ironside, not laughing as well. 'You were supposed to be in and out in a few hours. You have no cover. You have no backup. You'll be out on your own.'

'But this is a good lead, man,' he said. 'I'm not going to get another crack at it. Look, I need to go. I'll call when I can.'

'I still don't like it,' insisted Ironside. 'What if they make you?'

'But I'm not a cop,' Mark reminded him. 'I'm just a cat hanging out for some action. There's a big difference.'

There seemed to be no way of talking him out of this. He had no option but to agree, and Ironside hated having no options.

'Be careful,' warned Ironside.

'You don't need to tell me, man.' There was a pause. 'And there was one other thing. But I don't think you're not gonna like it.'

It would have to be bad if he was going to like it even _less_ than his aide going off on his own undercover.

'Well, spit it out. The sooner you tell me, the sooner we'll know if your right.'

'I saw Eve.'

'Eve?'

'She came to the Blue Corner with Carlson, and stayed 'til it shut. They seemed to be very… _friendly_. I saw her leave with him about a half hour ago. Thought I'd better tell you.'

' _Friendly_?' said Ironside.

'Yeah, man. He kept calling her "my girl Evie".'

' _Evie_?'

'Yeah.'

'Ok, Mark. Keep in close contact.'

'Sure thing.'

There was a click as Mark hung up, and Ironside put the phone slowly down, a deep frown on his face. _Evie_! What was she playing at? And where was she?

'Ed!' he bellowed.

The sergeant jerked his head up off the desk, blinking hard. He had only gone to bed after midnight, and some of the reports still weren't done, now he was left to do all the paperwork by himself.

'What is it, Chief?' he asked.

'Get Eve over here! Now! Call her!' He waved the phone at Ed, who stumbled across and took it. As he started dialling, Ironside struggled into a sitting position and started the insufferably slow process of getting out of bed.

'Well?' demanded Ironside, as Ed hung up.

'She's on her way over. Can I go back to sleep now?'

'No, you cannot, Sergeant Brown. Get dressed!'

'Dressed?'

'Then you can help me get dressed.'

'Dressed? But it's only five.'

'And you are supposed to be one of the cities finest,' Ironside said in a cutting tone. 'We don't sleep when we need to work.'

Ed just stared at him.

'And we don't have all day!' Ironside growled.

* * *

'Chief?'

The office was unnaturally quiet when Eve arrived. Ed was tucked away in one corner with a large cup of coffee, finishing off the reports that he didn't manage to get done the night before, pretending not to be listening.

Ironside himself waited by the main desk. He looked up as Eve entered. She was wearing a gaudy dress and a red scarf, and looked like she had just stepped out of a Club; which of course, she had, assuming Mark was right. Ironside had never seen her look quite so _beatnik_ before.

'What's wrong, Chief,' Eve asked, sounding worried. 'Why did you call me?'

'Why didn't you call in?' he demanded.

'You didn't give me much of a chance,' she said. 'I had just got in the door when Ed phoned. I am undercover, you know.'

'At five?'

'I was working,' she said.

'I've _spoken_ to Mark,' said Ironside.

Eve didn't even blink, though she must have guessed what was coming.

'So?'

'He saw you with John Carlson.'

'Chief, you sound like my mother,' Eve replied calmly.

'You were undercover to get information,' Ironside said sternly. 'Not to go out on the town with the suspect. What were you thinking, Officer Whitfield? This is not some sort of dating agency!'

'When you sent me undercover in the bar, I was supposed to get close to Carlson. I did. Just closer than you thought I'd get.'

'You were _not_ supposed to start being wined and dined by a potential murderer!' he said angrily.

'I know what I am doing,' said Eve. 'We were in public places the whole time. And he was the perfect gentleman.'

'So what exactly did you _learn_ on your evening out?' said Ironside, sarcasm leaking into his tone.

'John Carlson doesn't do much promoting anymore. He's virtually retired, but his name carries a lot of weight in the right circles, _that's_ why he's always seen out. And he knows _everybody_. And everybody knows him. And as far as anyone in the fighting world is concerned, he's the one to know. But, if there were anything going on, he would likely not know, he's just not involved like that. Said he had other business interests and he just shows up to keep himself in the spotlight.'

Ironside's anger was only slightly mollified by Eve's report.

'Well at least you discovered something.'

'Um…'

'What?' Ironside snapped. 'What _else_ is there, Officer Whitfield?'

'He's… well, he's asked me out again tonight,' said Eve.

'What!' bellowed Ironside. 'You're not going!'

'You still sound like my mother, Chief!' said Eve indignantly. 'I know what I'm doing. I'm still a police officer doing a job. You wouldn't act like this if it were Ed!'

In a sense she was right, and he knew it. But then, Ed wasn't _that_ likely to be wined and dined by a murder suspect.

'Don't you trust me?' she asked, hurt sounding in her voice. The implied rebuke took the sting out of his anger.

'Of course I trust you, Eve,' he said more gently. 'I don't like the idea of you being so close to Carlson without backup. He's dangerous.'

'Carlson seems…'

'No matter what he _seems_ like,' interrupted Ironside, 'he is still the prime suspect in a string of murders. What do you think would happen if he found out you were a policewoman?'

Eve had no answer to than. She looked at the ground.

Ironside let the silence stretch out, while he thought. He was too angry and too anxious to decide at the moment, and there was no need for any snap decisions about this.

'Go home, Eve,' he told her. She opened her mouth to argue, but he held up his hand. 'Go home, get some sleep and go back to work at the bar. Be back here by six this evening and we maybe have come up with a plan.'

Eve smiled a winning smile at him.

'Thank you, Chief.'

'That doesn't mean you're going,' he insisted.

'No Chief,' she said, but she was still smiling as she went out of the door.

Ironside watched her leave and sighed. What was he to do now? It was a golden opportunity to get some answers, but it was dangerously close to getting Eve in too deep.

'Come on, Ed,' he said suddenly. 'You can stop pretending to write and do some _real_ work.'

Giving a knowing smile, Ed stood up, pulling his jacket off the back of his chair.

'We're going somewhere, Chief? Right now?'

Ironside nodded. It was time to put some pressure on. It was time to go and see the man himself. He rubbed his hands together, and then pushed himself towards the ramp.

'Let's go and see John Carlson.'

* * *

The house was in a smart part of the city, with a nice view over the Bay and the Bridge, with a tidy garden and a large, cream-coloured Jaguar in the driveway.

Ed knocked sharply on the door. A dark-haired butler appeared within a moment.

'Police,' said Ed, showing the man his badge. 'We would like to speak with Mr John Carlson.'

'Very good. If you would follow me.'

The house was richly decorated in a surprisingly old-fashion style, with a large, spacious hallway, interesting but not unique.

Ironside and Ed were shown into the front room. Again, it was richly decorated, with sparse furniture. The fireplace was adorned by a set of golden trophies and there was a large picture of a fighting arena in pride of place above. Ironside wheeled himself over, looking up to examine it.

'Do you like my picture?' asked a voice.

Ironside turned. John Carlson was standing in the doorway, a look of surprise on his face. He was a thick-set man in his mid-fifties, with a long face and squint nose, where it had been broken in a fight many, many years before. He was dressed in a smart, expensive looking suit, with cold buttons and gold cufflinks. As he reached out to shake hands, Ironside noticed a gold watch as well.

The Chief smiled, although he'd hoped that, by showing up at the door so early, he might get the drop on him. But Carlson was looking as wide awake, and ready for a new day.

As Carlson stepped inside, another man followed him into the room. About fifty, he had a rounded face that contrasted with his lean, muscular figure, with dark hair and dark eyes. He was as immaculately dressed as Carlson, but looked ill at ease. He frowned as he gave Ironside a limp handshake.

'No one could fail to recognise you, Chief Ironside,' said Carlson. 'This is my assistant, Pete Paxton.'

'And this is mine,' said Ironside, mimicking the forced politeness. 'Sergeant Brown.'

Paxton held out his hand.

'Your badge?'

Surprised, Ed still produced his wallet and handed it over. Ironside noticed the faintest flicker of doubt on Paxton's face as he looked at Ed's badge, but Paxton handed it back without comment.

'To what do I owe this pleasure, Chief Ironside?' asked Carlson.

'Fights,' said Ironside bluntly.

'You're not going to get an insider tip from me,' Carlson said. 'That's illegal.'

Ironside gave him a thin smile.

'There are illegal fights going on in this city,' he said.

'There are always illegal fights going on, in any city. But I left that behind a long, long time ago.'

'Really?'

'I play it straight now, Chief,' Carlson said. 'Show me someone who says different, and I will show you a bare-faced liar!'

He seemed so sincere that Ironside was momentarily surprised. Still on the offensive, he flicked his steely gaze up to the other man.

'What about you, Mr Paxton? What do you know?'

'I just know what John tells me,' he replied.

Carlson laughed at the other man's response.

'He keeps me at the right place at the right time, Chief Ironside,' he said. 'I'm a busy man, I would be lost without him.'

Paxton gave a smug smile.

'But you haven't told me why you're here,' said Carlson.

'Underground fighting is why I'm here, Mr Carlson,' said the Chief.

'I don't know _anything_ about that!' he snapped. 'I don't do that any more.'

'You don't?'

'No!'

'Not _any more_?'

Carlson gave a grudging smile.

'Your young Sergeant might not know, but I'm sure your memory would stretch back far enough to remember what I used to be like.'

Ironside nodded.

'I remember _very_ clearly.'

'So if something comes up,' continued Carlson. 'You come knocking on my door? I thought a man was innocent until he was proved guilty, Chief Ironside.'

'He is.'

'I did my time for what I did. I paid and I'm clean. For a long time, I've just found good fighters. I made them big and they paid me well for it. That's all.'

What struck Ironside was the vehemence with which he spoke. The man believed every word, and Ironside began to wonder if he had misjudged the whole situation. Then Paxton spoke.

'Look, you can't come in here accusing people of whatever you like, Chief Ironside.'

'I need to find out the facts,' Ironside said.

'The facts about what?'

Ironside hesitated, not sure how much information to reveal. He was surprised at Carlson; he wasn't like he'd expected he to be. He wasn't like he remembered. Back in the day, Carlson had been cold, and vicious and intention getting what he wanted, regardless of what stood in his way. Maybe the man _had_ changed.

Nevertheless, everything Ironside had seen and heard there today didn't change the facts, or what the facts were telling him. It was someone like Carlson who was running the ring and killing people; all the evidence, and all of his instincts, told him so. Carlson did _have_ a connection. Somewhere.

'Do you have any reason at all to be here, Chief Ironside? Or are you just wanting to reminisce?'

'We have reason to believe there is a fighting ring in the city,' he said.

Carlson laughed.

'There are always fights in the city,' he repeated.

'This one is small, probably exclusive. Very high pay.'

'Exclusive?' echoed Carlson with an ironic tone. 'So you came to me? How thoughtful.'

'You know what's going down.'

'But I don't,' replied Carlson. 'I have no knowledge of anything like that. I'm not interested in illegal fights. I go to small spars for show, to give an idea of their form, yes, but not real _fights_. No the kind of fights you're implying.' He gave Ironside a hard look. 'And if that's all you came to ask me about, you can leave. Now!'

At the words, the butler appeared at the door.

Ironside paused for a moment, giving Carlson a hard stare. There was nothing else to be gained by staying. Not at the moment. He had done what he set out to do, anyway. He had shown his face and hopefully given Carlson something to think about. It was now a waiting game to see what he would do.

'Well, thank you for your time,' said Ironside, wheeling himself past Carlson towards the door, with Ed giving a hand to push against the thick pile of the luxurious carpets. 'Maybe we will see you again sometime soon.'

'Maybe you will not,' replied Carlson.

A few moments later, the two policemen were outside, and the door was unceremoniously shut behind them.

Wordlessly, Ed helped Ironside into the van then clambered into the drivers seat. He looked unsettled.

'What was all _that_ about?' he asked as he turned the engine over. 'You still think Carlson is involved?'

'I don't know,' replied Ironside thoughtfully. 'He's involved, I'm more convinced than ever. Someone with his name and his connections has to be.'

'But…?' asked Ed.

'But… it might be more indirect than I thought. If it's not the man himself, it could be someone close to him.'

He heard Ed sigh. Ironside smiled, leaning forward so he could see Ed's expression.

'What's the matter Sergeant? Loosing you taste for police work?'

'What I wouldn't give for a nice, straightforward robbery,' replied Ed, giving Ironside a rueful look. 'I suppose you want all Carlson's associates checked out?'

'And the rest.'

'And the rest,' echoed Ed. 'I know, the works from start to finish.'

'Sorry Ed,' said Ironside, patting him on the shoulder, 'but…'

'…but it's my job and I wanted it. I know that too.'

'And it's not going to get any easier just sitting around here. Let's go!'

* * *


	7. A Night on the Town, San Francisco Style.

Chapter 6

A Night on the Town, San Francisco Style.

Sergeant Brown dropped the Chief off at the office and headed straight back out to work, so Ironside rolled himself slowly through the corridors to the elevator, and up to his office alone.

There were two messages from Mark waiting for him, one to say that he felt terrible and he was never going to drink again, and the other said that he was going on to a sparring fight somewhere downtown, and he would be in touch when he could.

The rest of the morning and the afternoon passed quickly. Ed called in, saying that he was still busy with Carlson's associates, and that he had an _lot_ of them. But there were no more messages from Mark.

At about five, when Ironside was half way through reading Ed's reports from the day before, there was the sound of the elevator. He looked up from his reading.

'Hello, Chief!' said Eve, smiling, all dressed up and ready for an evening out.

'Eve? You're early.'

'I couldn't just sit around waiting,' she said. 'I was in the neighbourhood and I wondered if there was anything else I could do.'

'Ed's handling it,' he said.

'You shouldn't work him too hard,' said Eve. 'He's doing the work of three.'

'He's doing the work of _two_ , and so am I!' said Ironside indignantly.

'But is there anything I can do, to help?'

'It _is_ all in hand,' said Ironside. 'Ed should be back any minute, you can ask him, if you don't believe me.'

Eve smiled, and picked up the Chief's coffee mug.

'Would you like me to get you another cup?'

'Please.'

She waked over to the kitchen area, and poured him a cupful from the pot on the stove.

'Have you decided about tonight?' she asked, coming back over.

'Yes.'

'And?'

'Yes.'

Eve smiled.

'Don't get too pleased just yet,' warned Ironside. 'Ed's going to.'

'Chaperon?' Eve asked with a wide smile. 'Older brother? Bodyguard?'

'Backup.'

'Does he know?'

'He should be smart enough to guess.'

Eve smiled more widely and settled herself down on the chair closest to Ironside. To keep her from being to pleased with herself, he handed her some of the reports on his desk.

'You can get busy with these. We could use a hand.'

But her smile didn't fade.

* * *

'Where the _blazes_ have you been?' demanded Ironside as Ed walked through the door.

The sergeant didn't reply, just walked heavily forward and dumped the large pile of files and papers he was carrying on the deck with a thud.

'That's everything I could scrape together on Carlson, his business dealings, his friends, even the gun club he part runs. I've made a start to checking them out, so far nothing much. Only one tenuous link, due to take-overs and investment changes, John Carlson owns the complex with Scott Thompson's apartment in it.'

'Interesting.'

'But Carlson owns a lot of strange things,' Ed replied, sliding himself into a chair and leaning back. 'There's a gym, a bathhouse, a few restaurants, houses, land, the gun club, a small boat yard. And those are just the assets here in San Francisco. Getting a full make on him is going to take me a long time.' He turned to Eve. 'And what about you, have you been busy?'

She smiled widely, primping her hair.

'I've been getting myself ready for tonight,' she said. 'My big date with John Carlson.'

'That's all?' he asked crossly.

'But maybe I can do something to help cut down your list,' said Eve.

'If you do I'll buy you a steak dinner.'

'When you have quite finished!' interrupted the Chief. 'You're not done yet, Ed.'

'What do you mean by that?' he asked. He glanced at Eve and Ironside could see from his expression that he'd worked out what was going to happen. 'Eve _is_ going out with Carlson tonight.'

Ed looked between Eve and the Chief warily.

'And?'

'She won't be alone,' Ironside said. 'Ed, I want you out tailing her all night until she is safely back at her apartment. Don't let her out of your sight, not even for a second.'

The sergeant nodded almost automatically but he closed his eyes for a moment, and Ironside realised how tired the other man actually was. He'd worked twelve hours straight for the past two days, not to mention keeping working here during the evenings helping Ironside the way Mark did, on what was supposedly his own time.

But there were more important things to consider. More than anything else, he trusted Ed Brown. In the circumstances, he was the _only_ man he'd trust Eve's life to, other than Mark.

Ed knew that too, as when he looked up, there was a stern expression on his face that Ironside hadn't seen for a long time. Ed knew what was what when it came to Eve. He understood what she meant to the Chief, and he understood as well that if the Chief could be out there, he _would_ be.

'Make sure she's ok, then you can get some sleep, Ed. I'll call Carl Reese and get us some help for tomorrow.'

That got a small smile from the other man.

'Thanks, Chief.'

Eve stood suddenly, pushing the pile of files across the table towards Ironside.

'I'll have to get ready for tonight,' she said.

'I thought you were ready?' said Ironside.

'I have to change,' said Eve.

' _Change_?'

'I can't go out like this,' she said, as if that was enough of an explanation in itself. 'Come on, Ed,' she said brightly. 'You can give me a lift home, and I'll buy you a cup of coffee on the way.'

Ironside was about to argue, but Eve gave him a quick frown. Ed rose sluggishly from the chair and headed towards the door without another word. Eve stared at Ironside for a few seconds and paused, about to say something. But instead, she turned, and sped up to join Ed as he walked out of the door. Ironside wheeled himself forward to watch the pair of them leave with an inexplicable sinking feeling inside him.

* * *

Carlson was waiting for her at the bar, just as he said he would be.

'Hello, Evie,' said he, taking her hand. 'You look radiant.'

Eve smiled and gave a little swish of her new skirt.

'Thank you, John. It's the latest fashion. So where are we going?'

'I have it all planned out. I know this great little place downtown, Evie. You're gonna love it. Candlelight, and wonderful, wonderful music.'

'Sounds lovely.'

'They play all night. I made sure of it. You and I can dance until dawn.'

Eve smiled. She took a surreptitious glance down the street, seeing a black sedan that must contain Ed Brown and her smiled faded slightly. Ed was going to have a very long night.

* * *

Sitting in his car, Ed watched as Eve talked to John Carlson outside the bar where she was supposed to be undercover.

He yawned, tired from working all day with only a few hours sleep, and faced with the tricky prospect of forcing himself to keep awake while on stakeout. The coffee with Eve had helped, but coming at the end of another frustrating day, it was going to be even more difficult. He knew that every day spent chasing dead-ends was a day wasted, and day longer that Mark and Eve had to spend longer undercover. It felt like nothing he did could help them. The Chief was worried, that was obvious. They hadn't heard from Mark for a few hours, and Eve was dancing with the Devil tonight. No wonder Ironside was on edge.

Ed's stomach growled. He'd grabbed a sandwich at the cafe, but he didn't even dare stop and get himself a hotdog tonight. There was too much riding on this to let a little thing like food get in the way. For a moment, Ed tried to imagine what his boss would say if he lost them because he stopped to have food. That wasn't a _pleasant_ picture.

Apart from the fact that Ironside didn't enjoy sending women out into danger, Ed knew it wasn't easy for the Chief to send Eve out on a job like this. It was a strange situation to watch from the outside. Ed had seen the spark between Eve and Ironside from the first moment they had seen each other in that seedy club. It was obvious to anyone that Eve was hooked. And Ed knew Ironside well enough to know the feeling was mutual.

But that was then, that was _before_ the shooting. Maybe Ironside would have asked. Maybe Eve would have said something. But neither of them did, and it was too late. The Chief would never make a move now he was crippled. Eve would never make a move either. They had accepted the situation. They both knew where they stood. And they had both moved on. But the echoes of those feelings were never going to fade, and Ed had grown adept at spotting the signs. Ironside hated the thought of Eve being in danger, even though she was out on the dangerous and violent streets of the city every day. Eve couldn't bear to see the Chief hurt and would fuss over him like a mother hen, if given half a chance. And somewhere in the middle, Ed was left watching them dance round each other.

He yawned again, seeing Eve get into Carlson's cream Jaguar and the Chauffer shut the door behind her. As the car pulled off , Ed slipped the his own into drive and pulled out, following them out onto the street, tailing it through the city, weaving in and out of the busy traffic.

With hindsight, it was obvious what was coming, but Ed was looking in the wrong place for trouble. Too concerned with making sure he didn't lose the Jaguar, he didn't double check. But he hadn't expected anyone _else_ to be tailing John Carlson and Eve that night.

The traffic was heavy so early in the evening. Ed knew he was probably too close to the other car, but in all the traffic, he was afraid he'd miss them. Ironside would probably have busted him all the way back down to Patrolman if he missed them.

Unexpectedly, the Jaguar ahead turned left sharply without indicating, and Ed prepared to follow it. But a second car cut in front of him and he had to brake to stop the sedan from slamming into it.

Furious at himself and the other driver, Ed only just stopped himself from hitting the horn. Instead, he swallowed his pride and let the other car in, telling himself to think about the job in hand. The car had swerved round slightly, misjudging the corner and delaying Ed even more, so when he finally turned onto the road, Carlson's car had vanished.

Ed felt a sharp stab of panic, the Chief's threat loud in his head, as well as what Eve would say if he let her down. _Don't let her out of your sight for a second!_ That's exactly what he'd just done.

Then he spotted the Jaguar. It had stopped a short way ahead, parked, and the doors were being closed by the chauffeur. But Eve and Carlson were nowhere to be seen.

With a screech of brakes, Ed swerved his Ford to the side, parking it just a few cars further on. In a second he was out of the car, looking up and down the street. Eve had gone. He slammed the door of the car in disgust. He'd lost them. The Chief was going to kill him for messing this up.

Ed looked up and down the street. There were a couple of clubs and a jazz show, as well as the standard bars. The initial panic began to fade. There weren't that many to check. If he was quick, he would find them. Besides, even if he didn't they were hardly likely to leave without the Jag.

So caught up in trying to find Eve, he didn't notice the other car, the one that had pulled in front of him at the corner, until the men climbed out. Then there was a shout, and Ed turned to see two men moving towards him from down the street. Tired though he was, Ed's instinct for trouble hit red. The way they carried themselves, the way they looked at him was a sure sign of danger.

He took a step back towards his car, and reached for his gun at his hip, but before he even touched it, something slammed into him from the side.

Whatever it was, he didn't even see it coming.

* * *


	8. What's The Worst That Could Happen?

Chapter 7

What's The Worst That Could Happen?

Ironside sat alone in his office, glaring at phone, unable to concentrate anymore on the work in front of him. He'd read Ed's reports until he felt he could recite them backwards. Ed had done a good, thorough job, all the information was there, but none of it helped with the investigation.

And the telephone had remained infuriatingly quiet all evening.

Obviously, Eve couldn't call in, as she was supposed to be undercover. Ironside had hoped to hear from Mark, but the chances of that seemed to be fading. Ed should have checked in at least twice by now, but if he was tailing Eve he might not have had the chance to get to a phone.

But Ironside was used to _waiting_ for news. That was all he could do at the moment, and he hated it. His team were all out on the streets working, but he was forced to stay put, forced by his useless legs. Frustrated and angry he glared harder at the telephone. Something was wrong tonight. He didn't normally feel like this when his colleagues were out. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was missing something, something important.

He laid his hand on the files, dragging his gaze back to the papers. The answer was somewhere in front of him, hidden in the reports that Ed had brought, but he couldn't see it. Something in that mass of information was just the lead he needed, but he couldn't find it. He shifted uncomfortably in his wheelchair, his crippled body as restless as his mind. Before the shooting, at times like this he would have gone for a walk to stretch his legs and clear his head, inhaling the warm, familiar San Francisco air.

With a sudden jerk of movement, he pushed himself over to the nearest window. There was the occasional car that drove past, even so early in the morning, and Ironside tried to think about something else and give himself a much-needed break.

It didn't work. He could concentrate for only about half-a minute before his mind was dragged back to those flamin' reports. He knew it was there, that was the most frustrating part of it. The suspicion that had been haunting him since this morning was likely to be right, John Carlson _was_ connected but he wasn't the one in charge. Carlson was the obvious choice, but the conversation they'd had earlier had been unexpected in its outcome. Maybe John Carlson really had changed, as this was a feint by someone else. So maybe Ironside had been wrong. And if he was wrong about _that_ , maybe he'd been wrong to let Eve anywhere near him.

That thought was the last thing he needed at the moment. Letting Eve go out like this, into such danger, was difficult at the best of times. But it was worse now that he suspected that there was something else going on, behind the scenes. Perhaps he had been remiss to leap at the opportunity of going undercover. He mentally shook his head. No. He had been right; it was the fastest, most succinct way of getting information. And considering the way the bodies were stacking up in this case, they needed all the information they could, as quickly as they could do it.

Not long after three, the sound of footsteps in the corridor stirred Ironside from his stony-faced vigil by the phone. The door opened, and inside he gave a wholehearted sigh of relief.

'You're late!' he growled, turning to face Eve as she walked down the wheelchair ramp.

With a yawn, she sank down into a seat beside him, kicking off her shoes. She leaned into the chair, tipped her head back and closing here eyes for a few moments.

'You should be grateful, Chief,' she said in a low voice. 'I would have been even _later_ , but I told John I had to work in the morning so I couldn't go on.'

'What I would be _grateful_ for is a report,' he replied.

'I have had such a strange night,' she said. 'Music, candlelight. More music. Dancing. He's very good at dancing. I don't think I've ever been wined and dined so much in my life. Certainly not by a crook.'

'What did you find out?'

'About the murders or about fights? Absolutely nothing,' said Eve, lifting her head to look at the Chief. 'We talked about fine art and wines and…'

'When you're ready, Officer Whitfield!' snapped Ironside, 'I would like to hear a proper _report._ '

'Really, Chief.'

Ironside frowned.

'So this whole evening was a waste of time, is that what you're telling me, Officer Whitfield?'

'No in so many words, Chief, but…'

'Well? You must have found out something?'

'Well, we spoke about business for a while. But that wasn't a topic he was very interested in. He's got some involvement with a lot of things, he likes to keep his options open. But his business manager runs most of the events, and John concentrates on spending the money. And he does that very, very well.'

Ironside picked up one of the larger folders from his desk.

'This is the audit report from his business dealings. And his tax report.'

'So?'

'He's got a lot of money coming in. It has to come from somewhere.'

'I don't think he cares where, or knows,' said Eve. 'He just spends it.'

Ironside slapped the file on the desk and scowled. There was a pause.

'Have you heard from Mark at all?' asked Eve cautiously.

Ironside shook his head.

'Nothing all day. All flamin' day! He's missed his last two call-ins. I have no idea where he is or what he's doing. Or even if he's still alive.'

Eve laid a hand on his arm, squeezing it gently.

'Mark will be ok, Chief. We knew it would be difficult for him to contact us.'

'I shouldn't have sent him out. I shouldn't have put him in this position.'

'He _did_ agree.'

'Of course he did! But undercover work is different from day-to-day police work. I wanted a quick result and I used him to get it.'

'Mark will be ok,' said Eve confidently. 'Remember, he's not a cop.'

'Eve, that makes it worse.'

'He can take care of himself, he's lived on the streets, he knows what its like.'

Her hand tightened on his arm, and he nodded, though the exchange hadn't helped him feel any less responsible. But now at least two of them were back safely from their undercover assignments. He drew a great deal of comfort from her presence and the knowledge that the evening had passed without incidence. He put his hand on her hand, grateful for her reassurance.

'So what did Ed have to say about tonight?' asked Ironside, filling in the silence. 'And where is he?'

'I didn't see him,' said Eve.

'At _all_?'

Eve looked uncomfortable, but she shrugged.

'Well, I saw him at the bar when John collected me,' she said. 'But after that he kept his distance, just like he was supposed to do.'

'Even so…' Ironside glanced behind her, frowning at the closed door. 'So he should be here if he was tailing you. It doesn't take that long to park a car.'

'You did tell him to get some sleep, Chief. Maybe he went home after John dropped me off.'

Ironside didn't like the way she felt the need to defend Ed in this conversation, as if somehow Ed's sudden dislike of the office was his fault.

'Then he still should be here, since Mark's still out he's supposed to come back here.'

'Well, did you tell him that?'

'I don't need to _tell_ him something like that,' snapped Ironside. 'Ed knows.'

'But surely you don't think that…'

'Check downstairs!' interrupted Ironside.

Eve phoned the duty officer on the lower level and spoke for a short time.

'George hasn't seen him,' she said, putting the phone down again. 'Not since this afternoon.'

'Then where the _blazes_ is he?'

'It's not like Ed not to call in,' said Eve. 'Not even to leave a message.'

'Get him on the flamin' car phone and _get_ an explanation. Now!'

Eve picked up the phone again, looking more anxious than before, and Ironside waited.

'There's no answer.' Eve said.

Sinking down into his wheelchair, Ironside glowered.

'Maybe he _has_ gone home?' she suggested at last. She clearly knew what kind of response that idea would get, and Ironside did not disappoint her.

'Or _maybe_ he grew tired of his job, picked up some female company and gave up for the night!' snapped Ironside.

'Chief!' The horrified look on Eve's face made Ironside looked away. Ironside had never said anything like that about his sergeant before. Ed's reputation with women was well known; though few knew why he was so wary of a serious relationship. But the outburst was a measure of just how angry the Chief was.

'Ed wouldn't do that,' insisted Eve sternly. 'And you _know_ he wouldn't.'

Ironside nodded. He _did_ know. But he was damned if he was going to apologise,

'Well, call his house.'

It only took a minute, but there was still no answer.

Ironside looked up slowly. He knew he _should_ have been furious, and he was. But he wasn't just angry at Ed, he was angry at himself, as if he should have known something was going to go wrong. He'd had that feeling all night.

'Chief, where could he be?'

The phone rang and Ironside picked it up before it had even finished its first ring. Ironside listened to the voice at the other end in growing confusion.

'Chief? Chief, what's wrong?' asked Eve.

'I want them found,' he said. 'I don't care if you have to search the whole Goddamn city!'

Ironside put the phone down with a thump. Eve was staring at him, wide-eyed, wanting an explanation. The look of worry on her face was almost heartbreaking. And Ironside knew it was about to get worse.

'That was Tom Donnelly from Traffic,' he said. 'A couple of joy-riders just smashed Ed's car into a utility pole.'

* * *

Mark sat with his eyes half-closed gazing out of the apartment window in a drink-induced haze, watching the cityscape weave a lurch. He was as hammered as he could hope to get away with, with the prospect of more drinking later. Very soon he was going to drink himself into a coma.

Fortunately, for the moment, his two drinking partners were about as far gone as he was. Mikey looked like he was asleep, Archie was sitting hunched up on the sofa, holding a cushion tightly against his chest, staring sightlessly at the back wall. He hadn't moved from that position in about two hours.

There had been very few times over the previous twenty-four hours that Mark had seriously questioned what he was doing. Knowing that the Chief was relying on him to get something, Mark had thrown himself into his undercover persona. It had been a long, long time since he'd cut loose, properly cut loose and done whatever he felt like at that moment, good or bad.

He'd discovered that he and Mikey had had a lot in common, and Mark had grown to enjoy his company. Since he'd started to work for the Chief he'd hung around in different place, and with different people and it had been fun to run with a different crowd. But now he felt he was back where he'd started. There was a rough, dangerous edge that Mark had missed.

After the spar fight earlier, Mark had gone on to two other fights, more vicious, more aggressive and more _illegal_. Then he'd gambled away all the money he'd had on him, and he'd at last come up with more by pawning his watch and his ring. That he'd just spent more money in one day than he'd been paid in a year didn't bother him as much as it should have.

As he started out of the window, Mark knew that he was likely wasting time with Mikey and Archie. There were plenty of other fighters in the city, and plenty of other fights. He knew if he called in to the Chief, he would have had to justify his reason for sticking to these two, and not checking anyone else. The Chief wasn't going to believe that he _thought_ he was right. The Chief was going to want an explanation, he would want a tricky thing called _proof._ And Mark didn't have proof. All he had was a connection to John Carlson and the hunch that, underneath the façade, Archie was an extremely dangerous man.

If there was anyone he'd met during his time on the fight scene that was capable of killing, it was Archie. Everybody sensed it. That was why everyone avoided him.

There was a ringing noise, and Mark turned sluggishly. It was the telephone. He watched it for about a minute, the sound hurting his aching head, before Mikey twitched and wriggled across the floor slightly to reach out and answer it.

'Man, you'd better have a good reason for this call,' he drawled into the receiver. There seemed to be talking from the other end of the line, and Mikey's expression grew thoughtful.

'On the level?'

More talking, and Mark pushed himself up from his reclining position to watch what Mikey did next.

'You found one? Tailing the _man_?' There was silence for a few moments. From the muffled sound of the voice at the other end of the line, Mark thought that Mikey had had good news, but his expression remained serious and uneasy. 'You sure that he's said it's on?'

Whatever the person at the other end said, Mikey didn't like it.

'Ok! Ok! I'll get Archie. I know where and when. Yeah.'

He put the phone down.

'Hey man, bad news?' asked Mark.

Mikey's smile was gone, and he looked to Archie, who hadn't reacted at all, then back to Mark.

'You play hard and loose, man,' Mikey said. 'But how deep does it run?'

'What do you mean?' replied Mark suspiciously.

'You really want some action?' he asked, leaning forward. 'You really in?'

'Yeah, man, I thought you'd know that.'

'How far _in_ would you go?'

'Just what are you asking?' said Mark. 'In to _what_?'

'And it'll cost you.'

'I don't have the bread on me,' said Mark. 'You know that. Those last two must have been ringers to f…'

Mikey looked at him, his eyes narrowed as if he was trying to make up his mind about something.

'I don't mean money. You're gonna have to prove it. But if you want in, in to something big, you'll have to come with me. Right now.'

Mark tried not to show his anxiety to Mikey, but he wasn't sure if he'd pulled it off. He knew what Ironside would say he should do; but then he was sure Ironside would have done exactly the opposite himself, if he could have. There had to be a way of tipping the Chief off, or getting some kind of message to him.

'But I should…'

'No!' said Mikey, his voice brittle, like a snap of a broken bottle. 'You're either in, or not. No second chances, no questions. In or out.'

What else was Mark going to say? Whatever it was, it was big. Perhaps even as big as murder. And it was worth the risk.

'Ok. I'm in.'

* * *


	9. A Slight Overestimate of Speed

Chapter 8

A Slight Overestimate of Speed

Ironside sat looking at the written-off car, the bent pole across the top of it. It hadn't been moved, under the Chief's orders. Eve stood behind him, twisting the handle of her bag in her hands, her silence more worrying than if she had been talking non-stop.

It was certainly Ed's Ford; and Sergeant Brown was starting to make a habit of this. That was the second one this year, and it was a _damn_ good job Brown hadn't been behind the wheel this time, or the Commissioner would be after his badge.

 _The Commissioner_ … he would most likely hear of this soon. And when that happened, there was going to be a whole lot more trouble. Ironside could just imagine what Dennis would have to say about Ed's disappearance, and the whole undercover operation itself, not to mention the fact that they hadn't heard from Mark in over a day. But there was nothing he could do about that at the moment. He would worry about it later, and try and get some answers as quickly as he could, so that he would at least have something to placate Dennis.

Standing close by was the Traffic officer, Tom Donally. He had waited for the Chief to arrive, keeping an eye on the car before it was towed back to the police garage. He was a tall man, heavily built, with a dour, dark expression on his square face. He looked down at Ironside, unimpressed.

'What do you know, Tom?' Ironside asked.

'People on the street saw the car speeding,' Tom replied with a shrug. 'Probably not racing, just trying to get in everyone's way, that's the buzz with punks like these. Want to make people mad, and pickup a bit of speed. They skidded at the corner back there.' He turned and pointed. Sure enough, there was a line of black rubber on the asphalt.

'And then?'

'They lost control after that sharp turn and smashed it into the pole. And a damn good job they did as well or they could still have been out there. They could have smashed into something a lot less _replaceable_.' Donally scowled. 'I'm telling you Chief, your Sergeant Brown's going to have a lot of explaining to do.'

Ironside narrowed his eyes, looking up at the other policeman.

'What do you mean by that?'

'The keys are still in the ignition,' said Donally with a patronising smirk. 'I wouldn't have been surprised if he left the engine running as well.'

'His keys?' said Eve, giving the Chief a worried look. 'Is in the car? But that means…'

'So what about those two teenagers?' interrupted Ironside. 'You found them yet?'

Donally shook his head.

'No way, Chief. I've got every man I can spare, and a few I can't out looking but there's no way we're going to find them. It's a one in a million chance, you've gotta know that.'

'I wouldn't have put it that high,' said Ironside. 'One in a thousand, maybe.'

'There's still no way we're gonna find them, Chief.'

'We have to. We have to find out where this car was.'

'Why don't you ask Brown, it's his car? If he abandons it with the keys still inside, then that's his own fault.'

'Well, that's the problem Tom,' said Ironside, shifting in his seat. 'We've reason to think that Ed was taken by force.'

'Take by _force_? A cop on stakeout, carjacked? Don't be ridiculous!' Donally's face showed the contempt he thought for a man who could get himself taken out on a simple stakeout.

Ironside just looked at him coldly and made no reply.

'Well, if you say so, Chief,' Donally said doubtfully. 'But I think Brown just slipped up. And how!'

There was an edge of laughter to his voice that made Ironside even less agreeable than usual.

'If that's going to be your attitude,' snapped Ironside, 'then I suggest you leave it with us.'

Tom gave Ironside a disinterested look, perhaps debating whether or not the Chief was joking. After a few moments, he just shrugged and walked off.

Eve looked after him, fury on her face, struggling to keep herself in check.

'Let it go, Eve,' Ironside told her.

'But,' said Eve breathlessly, 'doesn't he care?'

'Apparently not.'

'But…'

'This isn't going to help us find out what happened, or find Ed,' Ironside told her. 'We've just got to make the best of what we've got until Donally gets a break.'

'But how?'

'Where did you last see Ed's car?'

'He was there when John collected me, I saw him parked half way down the street. I didn't see him after that at all.'

'Where did you go first?'

'There was this nice little jazz bar down by the Park.'

'And you're sure you didn't see Ed?'

'I deliberately didn't check, Chief.'

'Ok, then, we'll start there, after…' Ironside ground to a halt, looking at the car.

'After what?'

'After we've finished with the car.'

Ironside rolled forward, looking at Ed's smashed car. Careful not to get too close, as the pole seemed to be bent at a dangerous angle, he took as close a look as possible. There was a lot of damage to the front, the radiator was broken, the front fender was rammed into the engine block, the windscreen was smashed and the struts twisted.

But he did notice something odd, on the driver's side.

'What do you see, Officer Whitfield,' Ironside asked.

'I don't see anything but a written-off police car,' she said impatiently, not really looking at the vehicle.

'We don't normally let unmarked cars out of the garage with large dents in them,' he said, pointing at the driver's door. 'And there is no way that happened when the car hit the pole.'

On the driver's side was a dent in the panel of the door, where the metal was weakest.

'There wouldn't need to be a lot of force to make that,' Ironside said. 'Just something solid.'

'Solid? Like a _body_ kind of solid?' asked Eve, her voice showing her worry.

Ironside nodded.

'Something knocked him off-balance and he hit the car door on the way down.'

'Oh, Chief,' said Eve, her hand covering her mouth. 'Chief do you really think that's what happened?'

'It's only an assumption,' replied Ironside gruffly, sinking down into his wheelchair. 'But it's a good enough start.'

'So he was out of the car, with the keys in the ignition.'

'He would only do that in specific places, say if he somehow lost you and Carlson, but he could still see Carlson's car. Maybe he would pull over, get out and take a quick look. Carlson wouldn't likely leave his Jaguar behind on a night out. You don't drive a car like that around the City unless you want to show it off.'

Ironside stopped, not liking where this line of thought was going. If Ed had indeed lost sight of Eve for a short while, then he would know what was in store for him when he had to report that fact back to his boss. Maybe it had made him careless.

He took a deep breath. Maybe this, maybe that, or maybe _whatever_.

But he could picture the scene in his imagination. Something got in Ed's way, something slowed him down and by the time he reached the Jaguar, Carlson and Eve were gone, into one of the clubs. So the first thing Ed would do was get his bearings and search the local area; so he'd get out and take a quick look around. That's what Ironside himself would have done in those circumstances.

But as soon as he'd set foot on the pavement, someone took him out, and using no small force, either. If he was taken by surprise, if he wasn't expecting trouble, then he would be an easy target. Ironside shook his head. But no. No, that just wouldn't work. Even if he was an easy target, the likelihood of that happening by chance was too small.

And neither Ironside nor Ed were expecting trouble; he was just there to keep a close eye on Eve and observe from a distance. He was just there to keep her safe. There shouldn't have been any sort of trouble at all. Ed wouldn't have let himself get sidelined by something, not while he was tailing Eve. If there had been anything _unexpected_ , he would have called it in and got on with his job.

Ironside looked back at the dent in the side of the car. His frown grew deeper. That was the heart of the problem, it wouldn't have happened _by chance_.

'Chief?' asked Eve after a very long silence. 'Chief, what does it mean?'

He drew a long breath. There was another explanation, one that was much more cynical and much more alarming. In sending Ed out after Eve, Ironside had let him walk into a cleverly conceived trap.

'Chief?' asked Eve again. 'You're starting to scare me.'

'Ed was just tailing _you_ this evening. Wasn't he, Eve?' Ironside said suddenly.

'Yes,' she replied, confused.

Ironside shook his head.

'No, Ed was _also_ tailing John Carlson!'

* * *

Ed Brown was only vaguely aware of what was going on around him. There was very little noise or movement, and very little to suggest where he was. At first he didn't try to move, he kept his eyes closed, trying to figure out what was going on.

He ached everywhere. That was the clearest sensation, especially across the back of his head, and down his left side. His head felt foggy and his mind slow, but not like he'd been coshed, more like he'd taken too many sleeping tablets. But he'd been attacked, that much was obvious. But whoever had attacked him didn't hit him, though the side of his head told him that he'd been hit by something. Slowly, he tensed his left arm, feeling it sore. _What had happened_?

It was clear that he was in trouble. _Big_ trouble. And not just from the Chief for screwing up his assignment. If anything had happened to Eve, the Chief wasn't going to demote him, he was going to lynch him.

Worrying about that at the moment didn't help. But there were small things to be thankful for. At least this time Ironside wasn't going to have to untie him from a bed, where two art thieves had _thoughtfully_ left him last time he'd let his guard down; Ed's ego had taken a long time to recover from that little disaster, and thank God the Chief had been discrete or he wouldn't have had any reputation left. He could still see the faintly amused, disdainful smile on Ironside's face as he and Mark had opened the door of the hotel room where he'd been held. Nothing would ever be as bad as that again. But this was going to come close.

Ed drew a long, slow breath in, steeling himself for what he might be facing, and opened his eyes.

At first there was nothing much to see. It was very dark, wherever he was, with only two sources of light. One was from a narrow grilled window, set chest height in the wall to his right. The other was the outline of a door, with about half an inch gap at the bottom and a faint, yellowish haze around the rest of the frame.

For a minute, Ed let his eyes adjust to the darkness. From the door, he heard the occasional sound of footsteps and muffled conversation, but there was nothing immediately threatening.

After a minute, Ed pushed himself upright into a sitting position. He had been lying on a carpeted floor that had been surprisingly comfortable, but in the dark he couldn't make out any details. The room smelled like an old, forgotten basement, but there was the faint but familiar odour of cordite, as if something had been set on fire a while ago and the air hadn't cleared.

Next, he stood up. And though he felt slightly giddy as he rose, he didn't fall which he took to be a positive sign. Quietly, he moved over to the door, still not sure if there was anything in his way that he could walk into and make a noise.

Then he tried the door. But that was shut fast with no handle on this side, and no sign of a keyhole. He frowned. It was most likely bolted for the outside, which would make it very difficult to force. he felt round the edge, but there were no hinges either. Chances were that it opened out the way, making any attempt to surprise someone who came in mush lees workable.

So it looked like he was stuck, at least for the time being.

At that thought, he rested his head against the cold of the door, and swore to himself, hearing loud and clear _precisely_ what the Chief was going to say to him about this misadventure. Having to be bailed out of yet another jam was getting to be embarrassing. He was a cop; a _sergeant_ for God's sake. He was supposed to be able to take care of himself not get taken out like a rookie, two days after leaving the Academy.

While his previous errors hadn't exactly been his own fault, this one certainly was, he should have been more careful, it was as simple as that. But it wasn't just his reputation on the line; Ironside didn't tolerate fools, especially on his own _staff_. And Ironside wasn't the sort of man to give out many second chances. A small wave of panic went through him at that thought. He had to get himself out of this, as fast as he could.

Frustrated, Ed ran his hand over the door one more time, to make sure he hadn't missed anything. But he hadn't. There was no getting out through the door. He looked around the room again, his eyes now better adapted to the gloom, but that gave him no help. But for the carpet, there was no furniture. High up on the far wall opposite the door there was the small, vent-like window, and Ed went across to take a closer look, as there was no other possible exit that he could see.

It was narrow, even if he got it open it would be a tight squeeze to get out. But it was close enough to the ground for him to get into. But the only problem with that as an escape route was that the grille was fixed fast into the wall. He felt his pockets, though without much hope. Sure enough he'd been clean out of everything. His pocket knife, even his keys and his loose change, as well and his badge and his gun. It was all gone. Of course it was all gone. Whoever put him in here wasn't stupid.

Having exhausted all the obvious possibilities, Ed gave a heartfelt sigh, and slid down to the floor. He sat with his back to the wall, his knees bent up, with his arms across them, and tipped his head back, to stare at the invisible ceiling.

He was stuck. Someone had made very sure of that.

But who? And why? Maybe those were the things he should be concentrating on, rather than getting himself out of here by brute force. Maybe he would get the chance to talk his way out. But who would want to shut him in a room like this, and why?

It had been a deliberate kidnapping. What's more, it had been specifically _him_. The men that had come at him were the ones from the car that had cut in right in front of his Ford at the junction. It had been carefully planned and expertly executed and he'd just walked straight into it. But that led on to an inescapable conclusion, that whoever it was had been expecting someone to be there, tailing Eve and Carlson. If they knew Eve was a cop, they would have expected her to have some backup. But that didn't explain why they'd taken him out, unless Eve was in trouble too.

Ed closed his eyes, praying that his stupid mistake hadn't landed her in this as well.

Fortunately, there was another possibility, that someone had been expecting _Carlson_ to be tailed. If he was a suspect in a murder investigation, it was only natural that a cop would follow him, just to keep an eye on what was going on. And Carlson _was_ a suspect, Ironside had been sure that he was involved.

Ed frowned. His logic was sound enough, but something felt off about the whole thing. Assuming Eve was ok, why would Carlson take such a risk? Kidnapping wasn't an easy rap to beat. Why would he get involved…? Unless he hadn't been. Unless he been set up as well. With a shake of his head, Ed rubbed his eyes with the finger and thumb of his right hand, tired of his own thinking. None of it mattered very much at that moment.

Either way, there was one thing in this whole mess that was a dead certainty: Ironside was going to have his badge!

* * *


	10. Part Of A Larger Whole

Chapter 9

Part Of A Larger Whole

There was no reason for Ed to move, so he rested against the wall, mulling over what had happened, trying to keep calm and trying to figure out what his next move should be. There were many possibilities for how this could play out; clearly, if they had wanted him dead, they wouldn't have gone to all the trouble of getting him in the first place.

He thought about the other men, the ones they'd fished out of the Bay, remembering the autopsy photos he'd seen. It was a pretty safe guess that whatever had happened to them was going to happen to him. He tried not to panic, but trapped in this darkened room. It wasn't easy, especially since he had nothing to do but sit there and wait for something to happen.

But at last, after what felt like interminable hours, there noises from the other side of the door, so Ed moved across the room to press his ear against it, trying to make out what was going on.

There was a younger, lighter sounding voice, mumbling about nothing much, almost as if he was talking to the nervous shuffling and scuffing of shoes on a bare floor. The noise continued for a few minutes then there was the sound of heavy footsteps coming down a flight of nearby stairs and walking across to stop near to the door. Ed thought that there was a slight change in the intensity of the light that seeped under its base, so the man's shadow could have been close by. There was a short silence.

'You'd better make this good,' the new voice was a deep, older voice. Whoever was speaking was clearly in charge, an Ed felt he should have recognised it. But it wasn't John Carlson.

'It _is_ good, boss,' said the first voice. 'Real good. It's going to be a fine show.'

'Did anyone see you? Anyone at all? Carlson? The girl?'

Ed's breath caught. _Eve_. What had happened to Eve?

'No, Carlson didn't see anything, or that blonde chick he was showing off at the bar. They didn't see nothin', too busy with their evening out.' There was a slight snigger to his voice.

Ed's stomach lurched in relief. Eve was ok, they hadn't made her as a cop. They hadn't gotten to her too. The Chief would have killed him twice if he'd let anything happen to her. Always assuming that there was anything _left_ of him to kill.

'What about his badge and gun? You'd better have those or it's off. We're going to need them.'

Ed frowned, leaning closer. His gun, yes, he could understand that. But his badge? Why would they need that?

There was a rustling noise, then a sharp hiss of breath. Something slapped a table very loudly and Ed recoiled from the door.

'You _idiot_!' bellowed the older voice. 'You stupid idiot!'

'Hey…! Wh-what's wrong, boss?'

'What's wrong? Don't you know who he is, for God's sake?'

'No, he's just a cop. He was tailing Carlson, so…'

'He's Ironside's goddamn _sergeant_ , you hear me!'

Ed jerked his head up slightly, the conversation suddenly a whole lot more meaningful.

'So what?' said the younger man.

Something like a growl came from his companion.

'Don't you have _any_ idea about the cops in this city? We do anything to one of his boys and he won't stop until he'd brought us all in! I'm not crossing Ironside! We're not paid enough for that!'

In spite of the situation, Ed gave a small, proud smile.

'But Jim said…'

'Jim should stick to _chauffeuring_!' the man shouted. 'You don't take his orders, you take mine! Why didn't you check?'

'There wasn't time to get hold of everyone. I checked with Ron, afterwards, and he said that was the one at the apartment too. It looked like a good connection. They'll go for that.'

 _Ron…? Apartment?_ Ed narrowed his eyes. That could have been Ron Lincoln from Thompson's building. That son of a bitch, he knew that man had been up to something.

'I know!' growled the older man. 'I know he was. Lincoln told me too, you know. You just didn't think. He was bound to be the one, with Ironside sniffing around. He's Ironside's man!'

'Well, if you knew, you should have told us.'

'Shut up!' the other man snapped. 'I need to think.'

So it wasn't just that they knew he'd been at Scott Thompson's apartment, they also knew he'd been with Ironside at Carlson's house. Suddenly, Ed realised to whom the older voice belonged: it was Pete Paxton, Carlson's right hand man. He shook his head in disbelief, but it all made sense. Paxton was the man behind it.

'Well, what _are_ we gonna do?' said the other voice. 'One way or another, we've gotta do it quickly.'

'Shut up, then!' snapped Paxton. 'Gimme a chance to think!'

'What's there to think about? Let's just put a bullet in him right now and get it over with, if this Ironside is a tenacious as you say he is.'

A stab of panic went through Ed. If they did that, he wasn't going to get much of a chance to get out of here alive. He might be able to take them on if they came through that door, but they'd be expecting something and his chances were poor, bordering on bad.

'Are you crazy?' said Paxton.

'But he's seen us. We're already in for seven others, what's one more going to do to our sentence?'

'He's a _cop_!'

'I thought you hated cops as much as the rest of us. I thought you wanted to off one? That's what this is all about.'

'There are _rules_ ,' said Paxton more angrily. Ed could just imagine his face as he spoke. 'And the reason for those rules is to make sure we don't get caught. It's all very well killing, but the trick is to keep out of the gas chamber.'

'Well, if we don't do something, we're going to get caught anyway!'

'It's different with a cop, we've got to be careful. That's why we waited. That's why there was a plan, _remember_?'

'Well…?'

There was a short silence. Ed realised he had pressed himself up close against the cold, steel door, waiting like a prisoner for news of his execution. His fear had been growing steadily more acute. It was clear that, either way, they were going to kill him.

'No one knows he's here,' the other man said. 'There's no link with the club so there's nothing to link him back to any of this. If we put a bullet in him and dump the body somewhere real quiet, they'll have a hard time tracing him back to us, or anyone else.'

Ed frowned. The man had a good point. But there was always the link to John Carlson.

'But what about Carlson?' Paxton said. 'Johnny's going to put two and two together eventually, we were supposed to get him put away before he did. But more to the point, this Sergeant Brown was supposed to be tailing him. That's enough of a link to tip off Ironside. That man isn't like other policemen.'

The thin smile spread over Ed's face once more. He was oddly pleased that the reputation of his boss was so great, even in the criminal underworld. The Chief would likely be pleased too, if he ever got the chance to tell him.

'This isn't getting us anywhere,' said the younger man. 'One way or another we've got to get rid of him.'

'Shooting him _would_ be the simplest way,' said Paxton with a sigh. The stab of panic in Ed's chest grew stronger. 'But then… what about all the rest?'

There was a long silence. Ed hardly dared to breath, so anxious to hear what they were going to say.

'They've all had the nod,' said Paxton at last. 'They're on their way and they'll be a big turn out for a cop. Who knows they might even pay more for one of Ironside's staff. In a few hours everyone will be here. With their money.'

 _Money_ , though Ed with a sneer. _That's what my life comes down to, is it? Just money?_

There was the sound of pacing footsteps.

'We don't have any choice. They're all on their way. We'll just have to let Archie kill him and worry about how to get Ironside off our case later.'

At those words, the panic was replaced by a cold resolve. The matter was settled, and so was his fate; there was no other choice. But he did have time. Somehow, he had to get himself out of there. And he only had a few hours in while to do it.

* * *

Back at his office, Ironside went immediately to the files. There was no doubt in his mind that he had only a limited time before the Commissioner became involved, and only added to his problems. So he had to make something happen, and fast.

On the drive back from the totalled car, he had said very little to either his driver or to Eve. In some ways it was cruel to keep her in the dark like this, but he needed time to think. He almost had it. He could almost see the pattern, and how Ed fitted in. But what he saw filled him with fear. And he didn't want to worry Eve unnecessarily. If he was right, all he had to do was check a couple of things. Then he would be sure. And then he would tell her.

All the information was laid out in front of him, all the work that Ed had done on the case, all the information neatly collated and written out. Ironside flicked open the report Ed had made from his visit to Scott Thompson's apartment, reading through it once more, searching for the information he needed.

Eve waited in a chair by his side, tapping her foot anxiously. But she knew better than to interrupt her boss when he was in this sort of mood.

At last, Ironside put the file down. Then he placed the seven files, one for each body, in a line in front of them. He looked at Eve, who looked back with a steady gaze.

'Ok Chief,' she said. 'I've gone through this in my mind and I don't see that any of this makes sense. But you do. Don't you?'

'I'm not sure,' he said slowly, looking at her out of the corner of his eye.

There was a pointed pause.

'But you _do_ have a theory,' said Eve. 'I can tell.'

'I do.'

'Are you going to share it with me?'

Ironside thought about his response carefully, suddenly having second thoughts. But Eve was a trained policewoman, there was nothing to be gained by not taking her into his confidence. Except that he didn't like what he had to say. Ed and Eve; there was never any question of anything more than a close, professional friendship and they cared a lot about each other, and they worked well as part of his team. He didn't want to upset her.

But he had to play fair, she wouldn't want him to do anything else.

'Maybe Ed saw something he shouldn't have,' started Ironside. 'Maybe Ed _found_ something he shouldn't.' He paused. 'Maybe they wanted him, for some particular reason. But maybe he was _selected_ like all the others that we've pulled out of the Bay.'

'Selected?' her voice was full of tension, but her face remained fixed. 'Chief, what do you mean?'

'Chosen. Picked. _Deliberately_!'

'Chief, you're starting to scare me.'

Ironside turned to look at her.

'These deaths, they all have something else in common. If you wanted to watch a fight, no holds bared, all out to the end, who would you watch?'

Eve clearly found the whole conversation distasteful, but she replied anyway.

'I would watch people who knew who to fight. Make a good fight of it.'

Ironside pointed to the first four files on the table, Ronnie Stevens' file at the front and Scott Thompson's file just beside it.

'Stevens was the first, he fought someone who almost killed him, and then was taken out later by a hit and run. And Thompson was next. These were all fighters,' he said, pointing at the files. 'Except Thompson, he wasn't a pro, but he was handy and in need of money. Maybe they were well paid for it, I think they probably were. But they all knew how to fight.'

'What about the others?' asked Eve. The look on her face showed that she was beginning to see where he was going with this. 'Why would they do it? Fight like that, all the way to the end? They couldn't know.'

Ironside nodded.

'Most likely they didn't know what was waiting for them. They just thought it would be a tough match and the money would be worth all the pain.'

Eve stared at him incredulously.

'That still doesn't explain the others. They weren't trained to fight. What's the pointing watching them?'

'Fighting's a hard game, you watch a few fights and you get to know the moves. And maybe you grow tired of watching trained fighters. Maybe you've seen it all and death has grown dull.'

'Chief…'

'And say you have a grudge,' continued Ironside glowering at the table, challenging it to find fault in his logic. 'Maybe your lawyer overcharges you. Or your mechanic damages your car. Maybe you'd want a little payback. And say you had means and money to make it happen.'

Eve had turned white.

'That's… that's _horrible,_ ' she whispered.

'There are illegal fights all over this city, young men getting paid to beat each other without mercy. All it would need is a bit of nerve and the right connections, and someone happy enough to kill, or maybe who's killed before. Get all these things together and you have an organisation that kills people in the ring, for money.'

Eve gulped. Though he didn't want to keep going and cause her more worry, he continued anyway.

'How many people would like to see a cop fight for his life?'

' _Chief_ …' Eve could barely speak.

'Cops don't have a good rep on the street, do they. Traffic cops, beat cops, Undercover, Narco, no one likes us, but they complain loud enough when we don't do our jobs. What if someone wanted a little payback for all of that, as well? I bet there would be a lot of people on the scene who would pay to see a cop get their just rewards.'

Eve couldn't answer, and she just shook her head. It took her a few minutes to form the next, obvious, question.

'But even if you assume that's true,' she said at last. 'Why Ed? Why not just any cop on the beat?'

'Cops look after other cops,' said Ironside. 'It's different for the police, we look after our own. The others were nobodies, with no one to miss them. But this time, they would need a fall-guy to take the blame.'

'John Carlson!'

Ironside nodded.

'Ed was tailing Carlson, Ed was also with me, asking awkward questions about Carlson. A lot of people would put two and two together and see John Carlson as the prime suspect. Carlson was also connected with Scott Thompson. I'm sure with a bit of digging we could come up with other connections for the rest of them. With enough small pieces of evidence, plus the sordid details of Carlson's past, he could easily go down for it.'

There was another long silence. Ironside looked at Eve as she sat there, her expression one of fear and confusion as she looked away to the far distance. But though she was shaking, she didn't break down, or over-react. At last she turned around and looked back at the Chief.

'Ok then,' she said. 'But even if you're right, that doesn't get us any closer to finding Ed. What are we going to do? We could try and find Mark, tell him what to look out for…'

'And blow his cover wide open?' interrupted Ironside. 'No, we need another angle.'

'We're still looking for the same criminal. And we still don't know where to start.'

'But we also need someone in a position to set Carlson up,' said Ironside. 'Someone close enough. Someone who knows him.'

'One of his business associates?'

'Did he mention anyone in particular to you?'

'Peter Paxton, he was the only one, I think. And there was someone called Ron who used to be in the ring that occasionally gave him good tips. I think that's all.'

Ironside frowned. Perhaps it was just that simple, Paxton or this Ron could be the one in charge. Or maybe they were both involved. It would help if her knew Ron _who_ … His train of thought suddenly jarred to a halt. There had been a Ron somewhere else, it could be the same man.

Still frowning, he picked up Ed's report from Scott Thompson's apartment and the folder full of letters.

'What about this Ron Lincoln,' said Ironside, handing the file to Eve. 'Anything about him strike you as familiar?'

Eve read the report in silence.

'I'm not sure,' she said. 'But Ed thought something was off.'

Ironside nodded. Eve flicked through the rest of the file, looking at the letters Ed had brought back from the apartment building. Those letters were meaningless, but it had taken this Ron Lincoln five minutes to find them, or so the file said.

Eve looked at Ironside, still fingering the letters.

'You know, maybe he was doing something more productive with those five minutes than finding these letters,' suggested Eve.

Ironside nodded.

'Maybe.'

'But Scott Thompson was the last to be found,' she reminded him. 'But not the last to be killed, he was killed long before that.'

Again, Ironside nodded.

'From the timing, he was most likely the first or second. And maybe they were trying to hide that fact, and keep suspicious away from anyone connected with him.'

Eve drew a deep breath, a look of worry on her face.

'There are a lot of assumptions with this, Chief,' she said. 'And if we're wrong…'

'Well, let's turn them into facts,' interrupted Ironside.

'How?'

'Let's go and see this Ron Lincoln for ourselves!'

* * *


	11. That's Why It's Called Undercover

Chapter 10

That's Why It's Called Undercover

The tension in the car was making Mark extremely nervous, and just at a time when he had to be as calm as possible. In the front passenger seat, Archie was mumbling to himself as Mikey drove, and occasionally Mikey would steal a dark look at the other man, as if to try and communicate something that Mark couldn't quite figure out.

After about half an hour of slow, city travelling, they stopped at a red light and Mikey glanced back over his shoulder to Mark in the back seat. Mark didn't like the expression on his face.

'You're not going to get a second chance to back out,' Mikey said.

'Quit bugging me, man,' replied Mark. 'I know.'

Mikey gave a nod, then turned back to the wheel of his shiny, new three-door Ford. Though the exchange had been short, Mikey was more relaxed. And that made Mark even more nervous. As they travelled, he stared out of the car window, and never before had the call boxes they passed looked so interesting.

He knew what Ironside was going to say to him when they next spoke, the words had been loud and clear in his mind for the past few hours. He had done _precisely_ what the Chief had told him not to do.

And he was only getting himself in deeper with every new decision.

But there was no way he could let something like this go, he couldn't just turn around and let Mikey and Archie off on their own. Something was going down. He had to be involved and he had to try and stop it. He was the only one in a position to do it. Not that he had expected anything like this when he had agreed to go undercover, but that wasn't the point. Now he was here, he had no other option.

They drove on, weaving though the back streets and dark corners of San Francisco. It was almost as if Mikey was trying to make sure Mark was confused about where they were going. His cover story had been that he was new in town, so it was likely that Mikey thought that he didn't know his way around.

Rather than appearing worried, Mark contented himself with looking out of the window. They passed through familiar streets, and out into more unfamiliar territory. He knew roughly where they were, but not specifically. His anxiety increased slightly more.

'How long is this gonna take, man?' he asked eventually. 'Your driving is making me dizzy.'

Mikey didn't answer.

They were on the outskirts now, and it was growing lighter in the sky to the east, Mark refused to look at his watch, as that would only show how long it had been since he'd contacted the Chief. As last, Mikey turned the car off the road, down a dirt track. In the front passenger seat, Archie suddenly began to get agitated, looking eagerly from left to right as if he expected trouble.

'Ok,' said Mikey, pulling up the car by a tree. 'This is it.'

'Yeah, man!' said Archie, rubbing his hands together. 'This is it, this is going to be _so_ sweet!'

'Keep it in control,' Mikey said to the other man. 'Keep it cool.'

'What's up with this place, man?' Mark asked. 'It's time to level. What's going down?'

Mickey looked at his front-seat passenger.

'There's gonna be a fight. A real sweet, special one,' said Archie, a slightly manic look in his eyes. 'And with your background one that you are just gonna _love_.'

'What do you mean by that?'

'You'll see, my friend,' said Mikey.

A smile of true madness spread over Archie's face, and Mark's blood ran cold. But he knew from working with the Chief that he had to keep on digging for information. He had to push.

'Come on,' he said. 'You can't leave it like that. What's goin' down, man?'

'It's what they were waiting for,' said Archie in a forced whisper, his eyes still wide with glee. 'Something the Club would pay to see. And big bucks, too. It's the big time, man.'

'Archie, shut up!' Mikey muttered.

'What sort of thing?' insisted Mark.

Archie gave a nasty smile.

'I told you before,' he said slowly. 'Cop's gonna _get it_!'

Mark looked from one man to the other, panic stabbing through him. He fought to keep himself under control. This wasn't just big, this was huge, and far too huge for him. And it was far too huge for him to he into on his own with no backup, as isolated from the other team members as he could get. But what other choice had he had?

'I told you,' said Mikey with a grim smile. 'I told you it was heavy. I asked you if you wanted in. There's no way to back out now.'

Trying to stay calm, Mark looked from Mikey to Archie, then back to Mikey.

'A cop?' he said. 'Are you cats _crazy_? You're going to fight a cop?'

Archie just shrugged.

'Hey man, fighting's one thing,' said Mark. 'But a cop is something different. I don't wanna get involved with cops again. And what if he ID's us afterwards.'

'There ain't gonna be an _afterwards_ ,' said Archie. 'You get what I'm saying?'

Mark already knew that what they were going to say, but still the words seemed to take him by surprise. They were really going to murder someone, with no more thought than what it took to get to the right place at the right time. And Archie was looking forward to it.

'That's murder,' said Mark. 'You know what happens with murder. I don't want to get in with a murder, not for any buzz.'

Mikey leaned over and took hold of his arm very tightly.

'You said you were in. You don't get to just walk away! No one does and stays alive afterwards, I've seen it. And it's gone to far already. You're either in or you're gonna join that cop in the show. You cool?'

Mark hesitated. He didn't want anything to do with this, this was too big. He had no back-up and no way to safely contact the Chief without blowing his cover. But he wasn't going to get another opportunity at this. Whoever they had shanghaied into this was in serious trouble, and so was he if he didn't play along. Going undercover had looked so simple in the safety of Ironside's office.

He let out a long breath, and nodded.

'I trust you, Mikey,' he said at last. 'And you're right. I do wanna see a cop go down.'

Mikey gave a wide grin.

'I knew it, as soon as I saw you in the club. I knew you would be able to take the heat.'

Mark wasn't sure he should be pleased by that compliment, but he smiled anyway.

'C'mon then,' said Archie. 'If we're goin' to go, we've gotta go now.'

He was already half out of the door before Mikey grunted a response, or before Mark could nod. Mikey pulled the seat forward and let Mark out of the car, then slammed the door with an excessive thud, and locked it.

Mark watched him. Was he nervous, or excited? It was difficult to tell. There was something odd about him, and Mark didn't like the way Mikey was acting, but he couldn't put his finger on exactly what it was.

They headed along a dirt track, Mikey and Archie on either side of him, reminding Mark with unpleasant clarity of all those times in his youth that he'd been marched along to some downtown Police Station.

Ahead was a dark, low building that was about as non-descript as it could get. They went to the back of it and went though an unobtrusive door.

Inside, they descended some steps, down towards a corridor blazing with off-white, artificial light. Beside him, Archie was acting more erratically, he bouncing along the corridor, his arms and hands tense, rolling his shoulders the whole time as if warming up for something.

Mark tried to focus on what was happening, he kept a keen look out for any exits, or telephones, but all he could see was the grey of the corridor ahead. At the bottom of the steps, a man Mark didn't recognise was waiting for them. His placid look vanished the moment he set eyes on Mark.

'What are you playing at?' he hissed at Mikey. ' _What_?'

Mikey gave the man a sullen shrug.

'He's a player,' Mikey said. 'And he wants in.'

' _In_? You have no right to let anyone in! _I_ say who's in and who's not.'

There was an unpleasant pause, and the man looked at Mark with a sneer.

'What's your name?'

'Mark Sanger.'

'Did you check him out?' the man asked Mikey.

'Of course I did,' said Mikey in a very derisive tone. 'I'm not stupid. He's a player, I said so. If you don't believe me, Pete, then…'

"Pete" snorted at the suggestion. Mark's expression didn't change, though he knew that if Mikey had done any checking at all, it would have brought him straight back to Ironside. If this Pete decided to check, then he was going to get burned.

But Pete didn't move. Instead he looked at Archie, who looked up to him, grinning like a maniac. Pete patted Archie on the shoulder, and gripped it tightly. Then he looked back to Mark.

'The man's not flush, is he?' Pete said. 'So how's he going to pay his entrance fee?'

Mikey grinned.

'Same way I did. First blood.'

Mark was liking this scenario less and less with every passing second, but there was no way he could back out now, and remain alive. He made sure his stance was open and relaxed, and concentrated on looking calm, burying his feelings as far down as they could go. He stared back at Pete, meeting his eye and waited for a response.

They stood in silence of almost a minute, Mark aware of every twitch Archie made, and Mikey staring at Pete.

'Ok, first blood it is,' said Pete at last. 'But he doesn't get a second chance.'

At the words, a sneer appeared on Mikey's face, but Pete paid no attention to it, if he had even noticed. He spun round on his heel and strolled off down the corridor.

'Come on!' he said.

Archie followed like an eager puppy, Mikey and Mark with much less enthusiasm. Pete led them down to another doorway, and they went inside.

The room was very brightly lit as well, painfully so and Mark had to blink hard to keep his eyes from watering. The group of five men stood around in a small circle talking in hushed voices. Mark didn't recognise any of them; none of them were John Carlson, that much was obvious. The men accepted Mark's presence with barely a glance of curiosity, they were all far to interested in Pete and Archie.

Mark moved towards the back, and Mikey went with him.

The soft murmuring died away as Pete moved to the front of the group.

'This is a privilege,' said Pete. 'We all know it, and we're all grateful for it!' He patted the place on his jacket where his wallet should have been, and there was a cheer from the others.

'This is what we've been working towards. After this one, we're going to have to change tack, shut this place down and think of something else. So tonight we get to enjoy it one more time. Savour it, as we've saved the best until last.'

Mark's stomach clenched, as part of him wanted to be sick. They were talking about watching a man beaten to death, not watching the final football game of the season.

'You on the level?' said one of the men to Pete.

'Yeah, we're on the level. This is the big one.'

'What about our insurance?'

'Carlson is going to take the fall, no sweat. This one's been hanging around the man for a couple of days. No one is going to find out about us.'

'And it _is_ a real cop?' another said.

'Oh yeah,' said Pete, grinning. 'And a sergeant, no less.'

Working for Ironside had changed a great many things about Mark. He was happy, at ease with his new life, he had money, a steady job, but he had discovered something else. He had an _instinct_. When he'd fought in the ring, he'd had a gut feeling then, being able to duck and weave and avoid the punches. But now, with Ironside, his gut feeling had developed into something else, something much more refined.

And he _knew_ that the sergeant they were talking about was Ed Brown. He was never able to explain how he understood that, but he did.

'So where's the badge?' demanded someone. 'Not that we don't trust you Pete, but we're gonna need some proof, for all that bread.'

Pete reached into his back pocket and pulled out a black wallet that was passed around, the other men examining it with murmurs of approval. Mark couldn't bear to look at it, in case he was right. As it came close, he realised that he was right. He'd see that wallet often enough, slightly dog-eared round the bottom corner, about the only dog-eared thing about the man. Ed had always claimed that he needed a new one, but had never gotten around to getting it, Eve had joked that he was too attached to it to get another one.

Someone passed the wallet across to him, and he saw Ed's picture and his signature along the bottom. After a moment, Mikey took it from his hand and passed it on to someone else.

Mark didn't move. This wasn't just bad, this was as bad as it could get. It wasn't about stopping them killing a cop; it was about stopping them killing a _friend_ , as well as getting them _both_ out of here alive. And he still didn't know where "here" was.

His chest tightened in panic. He found himself paralysed by indecision as he realised that he had no idea what to do. If it came down to it, how was he going to stop them beating Ed to death, knowing that if he made a move and got it _wrong_ , they would just kill him as well and Ed would die anyway? But, if he did nothing, how was he every going to face Ironside, or Eve again? More to the point, how was a he ever going to be able to look at himself in the mirror again?

He had to _do_ something. He just didn't know what.

Suddenly, the door opened and three men stepped out, the one in the middle blindfolded. From the scuffmarks on his shirt, his tousled hair and the way the other two held him with his arms tight against his back, it was clear that he hadn't come along easily.

Standing in the full glare of the lights, the blindfold was ripped of his face and the man winced in pain from the punishing brightness of the white lights. The smallest of shudders when though Mark. He knew already had all the proof he needed; he knew who it was, but that didn't make the reality of seeing him any easier. It was Ed Brown.

The two men let him go, pushing him forward slightly, and Mark realised that Ed's hands were cuffed behind his back. Mark had never seen his friend look so vulnerable before. Usually so self-assured, there was an expression on his face that Mark hadn't expected. Having worked on the case, he'd seen the pictures of the other victims, and Mark saw Ed understood what was about to happen. There was no panic in his eyes, or terror, just the detached kind of determination of a man who knows that he's at the end of the line.

For a few moments Ed stood there, staring straight ahead. Then his gaze went round the group, Mark held his breath. But Ed was a pro. He didn't even look twice at Mark, even though he must have been extremely surprised, and maybe even grateful, to see him standing there at the back.

There was some excited chatter at the sight, and Mark saw Archie grin at Mikey. Mikey didn't respond.

'You know why we're here,' said Pete. 'So let's get down to it.' He pointed at Mark. 'You, c'mere!'

At first, Mark's legs wouldn't work, but after a seconds hesitation, he stepped forward towards Pete, careful not to look at Ed.

'First blood,' said Pete with a cruel smile. 'That's what we need. Just to see how serious you are.'

'You're the new boy,' said another man, one with a mocking, sarcastic edge to his voice. 'You're going to have to prove you're in.'

'I ain't killing no cop,' said Mark firmly.

'That's what we've got Archie for,' said someone else. There was a small ripple of laughter that quickly petered out, leaving a profound silence behind.

Pete jerked his head towards Ed.

'Assaulting a police officer is good for a couple of years, if you're caught,' he said. 'And there are witnesses, reliable ones too, in this room. Going to risk a couple of years of your life for the chance to join us? Hit him. Show us what you think of the cops.'

Mark had expected some jeering, but there was a silence that somehow felt more intimidating. And try as he might, he couldn't see any other way out of this situation, other than to do what the man said.

'Mikey said you were a player,' Pete said. 'Did he get it wrong?'

Mark shook his head.

'I just didn't expect anything like this,' he said.

'What did you think it was gonna be? More playing at _fights_?'

Mark shook his head again and Pete snorted.

'Well, just a reminder, if you're not in, then we'll have a double showing. Archie's not gonna mind that.' The silence grew deeper.

He had no choice. These men weren't going to be fooled if he pulled the punch, these guys knew what they were looking at. If he was going to do it, it had to be for real.

Hiding the shake of his hands with balled fists, Mark stepped up to Ed, looking at him, eye to eye. And Ed looked back, his face as expressionless as could be. Mark couldn't even begin to guess what he was thinking.

Ed Brown stood for everything that Mark had hated in his youth: a white authority figure who'd had everything Mark hadn't. There had been a few times he'd wanted to take a swing at the other man. They had disagreed from time to time but, like the Chief himself, Ed was a good man and he had _earned_ Mark's respect over the past few years. He was a friend. However unlikely it was, they had somehow become friends, though Mark had never realised it properly until now.

A full minute must have passed.

'He ain't got it in him,' said a voice. 'He ain't got the nerve!'

The words forced Mark to act. There wasn't anything else he could do. Still looking Mark directly in the eye, Ed's expression changed. He tilted his head up slightly, Mark couldn't decide if Ed was daring him or pleading with him to take a swing.

They stood for a second longer, then Mark took a half-step backwards, twisting his body. Then he swung his right hook around, putting all the force he could behind the punch, aiming directly for the other man's face.

Mark's fist connected with a dulled crunch and Ed fell to the floor as if he'd been hit by a hammer. He didn't move.

* * *


	12. Dead Weight

Chapter 11

Dead Weight

Mark stared at the still body of Ed Brown as it lay stretched out on the concrete floor, stunned at what he'd just done. His right hand felt as though it had been crushed in a vice, as he hadn't just hit Ed; he'd punched him like he really meant it, using his own fear and panic at the situation as fuel. And Ed hadn't even tried to stop him, or tried to avoid it. He'd just stood there waiting for Mark to get on with it.

What had he _done_?

Suddenly, Archie clapped him on the shoulder.

'Hey man! What a move! You'll be taking my job next,' he said with a loud laugh.

The silence that had held over the whole time suddenly broke, and the people started chatting and talking. Mark stared still as Mikey knelt down next to Ed, checking his pulse.

'Is he…?'

'Man, you must really hate cops to hit him that hard,' said Mikey. He looked up at Pete. 'If you want a real fight, you're going to have to give him time to come round.'

Pete glared down wordlessly at Ed, then back at Mark

'You stupid jerk!' he hissed. 'What did you go and do that for?'

'Hey, Pete, take it easy on the man,' said Archie, grinning and still patting Mark's shoulder in a brotherly way. 'It's just gonna stretch things out a bit. You'll still get your show. And I'll take it a bit easier on him, to make it last.'

Archie laughed again, and Mark pursed his lips. At least he'd managed to delay the fight. But whether or not that helped, he couldn't guess.

Ed was no pro-fighter, but he understood how to play the game; a cop on the streets of any city wouldn't last a week if he didn't know how to handle himself in a fight. But he'd find it difficult to even stand up straight after a punch like that, and against a man like Archie, he'd be easy prey. He had to do something; he couldn't leave Ed to face Archie, and certainly not after smashing his lights out just to protect his own cover.

'What are you looking at?' Pete snapped at Mark. 'This is your fault!'

'Hey, man. You just said to hit him.'

Pete grunted, not noticing the shudder Mark gave as he spoke.

'Fine,' said Pete with a shake of his head. 'Mikey, take him back to the meat locker and get him into shape. Feed him coffee, or uppers, or _whatever_. Just get him standing. We can't hang round all day.'

'And you? You can _help_!' Mikey snapped at Mark. 'You got me into this. What did you have to hit him so hard for?'

Mark shrugged.

'Looked like he was smiling at me,' he muttered.

'Remind me not to smile at you again,' said Mikey dryly. 'C'mon! Help me get him out of here.'

Mark helped get Ed half sitting up, and slipped his arm under one arm to heave him up off the ground far enough to be moved. But at least there was no blood, and it was unlikely that he'd broken Ed's nose, or worse. Still, his head lolled forward in an extremely unnatural way and he was a dead weight to carry. The two other men who'd brought Ed through in the first place did nothing to help as Mikey and Mark dragged him back through the doorway, one on either side.

Behind the door was a small room with another, open door at the far end. There was also a table and a couple of chairs, and on that table Mark saw Ed's gun, still sitting in its holster, beside some other things, coins, a small Swiss army knife. At the edge was a set of handcuff keys.

They opened up the far door and dragged Ed through. The room was lit up like a Christmas tree and empty, except for an off-brown carpet.

Carelessly, Mikey let Ed fall to the floor and Mark forced himself to copy the other man, leaving Ed lying awkwardly on his side, hands still cuffed behind his back, his mouth slightly open. Still anxious, Mark knelt down beside him to take a closer look, and Mikey did too.

'Good looking for a cop,' Mikey said. 'At least he was before you took a pop at him.'

He tipped Ed's face round toward Mark. There was a large red bulge across his cheekbone and up to his eye, where Mark had hit him. That was going to hurt like hell. His expression was slack, and if Mark hadn't known what had happened, he would have though Ed was sound asleep. Looking at his friend, Mark had the sudden, terrible feeling that Ed wasn't acting. He really _was_ out.

Mark gulped, his mouth suddenly drier than a Californian heat-wave. That was bad news.

'Hey, man don't sweat it,' said Mikey. 'As long as Archie gets a go, Pete's not gonna come after you.' Mark had to force himself to grunt back in reply.

Mikey stood, and so did Mark, finding it hard to look away from Ed.

'C'mon,' Mikey said, shaking Mark by the arm and pulling him towards the door. 'Come with me and we'll find something to perk him up a bit.'

What else could he have done? What else could he do but keep this painful façade up for as long as he could, and hope and pray that he could get in touch with Ironside?

With one last look as his unconscious friend, Mark shut the door behind them.

* * *

Ironside missed Mark. The police driver was a good enough officer, but he didn't have the way with the van that Mark did, and it bumped and lurched its way along the city streets. There was little traffic, as it was still a shade too early to be busy. Beside him, Eve sat in a tense silence; without a window to look through, she stared down at the floor.

Eventually, they rumbled to a halt and Ironside and Eve got out. The apartment block was just as Ironside had imagined it would be from Ed's report, cheap but not as bad as it could have been.

He knocked on the door and they waited. Over a minute passed before there was any sound of movement. At last the door opened a fraction and Ironside could see part of a woman standing behind it, peering though with a very unfriendly expression on her face. He smiled.

'Who are you?' said the woman loudly.

'We're looking for Ron Lincoln,' said Ironside, holding up his badge. 'We need to speak with him.'

'M'husband's out,' said the woman. 'Go away!'

'Mrs Lincoln…'

'I told you, he's not at home,' she said sourly. 'What's wrong? You can't hear as well as can't walk?'

'Well if he's not here, we'll just have to speak to you,' snapped Ironside with a scowl, ignoring the insult.

'You going to kick in the door?' she asked.

'Do I need to?'

The Chief glared at her, aware that Eve was close by his side, and probably glaring at her too. He needed information and he needed it as fast as possible. If this was a dead end, then he had to know about it sooner, rather than later. He couldn't afford to waste time going to get a warrant. Time was running out, he could sense it. Swallowing his considerable anger, he drew a deep breath.

'Mrs Lincoln, may we come inside and ask you a few questions?'

The woman hesitated then shut the door. Furious, Ironside was about to knock again when there was the rustle of a chain and the door slowly opened.

The woman behind it was thin and angular, her brown hair tied back under a scarf. She looked as if she had been cleaning something, as she was wearing a tatty apron over her clothes and there was the faint smell of disinfectant. She stood back, letting Ironside roll forward, helped by Eve. Inside, the hallway smelled of cleaning fluid as well, with added overtones of furniture polish. Mrs Lincoln stared at Ironside.

'So? What have you got to say for yourself?' she demanded.

'Where is Mr Lincoln? Shouldn't he be here, working?'

The woman gave him a withering look.

'Who cares where the old fraud is,' she said.

'I care.'

'Well I don't. He's gone out and that's all I know,'

The woman glared at Ironside, a cantankerous expression on her lined face. Ironside glared back.

'Eve,' he said suddenly. 'Book her for obstruction!'

'It will be my _pleasure_ , Chief!' replied Eve coldly, and even Ironside was taken aback by the conviction in her voice.

'But you can't do that!' squeaked Mrs Lincoln.

'I can and I will,' said Ironside. 'And _besides_ obstruction, I can book you for aiding and abetting, after the fact and likely before as well.'

'Aiding? Abetting? What! I've done nothing, you can't just come in here and…'

'This is a _murder_ investigation, Mrs Lincoln.'

That word stopped her.

'B-but…' she spluttered.

'What can you tell us about Scott Thompson?' Eve asked suddenly. 'You do remember him? Don't you?'

The woman _almost_ smiled.

'Scott? Yes of course,' she said. 'But he's long gone back to his folks I guess. Two months or more. What's that got to do with murder?'

'What was he like?' Ironside asked.

'A nice enough boy, but always broke. Always late with the rent, but very apologetic about it.'

'A good mechanic?'

'Oh no!' she said, shaking her head vigorously. 'Terrible. Always making a mess of cars, even ours once.'

'I'm sorry, but he's not gone home, Mrs Lincoln,' said Ironside slowly. 'He's dead. His body was pulled out of the Bay. He was murdered.'

The woman looked from Ironside to Eve, confused. The Chief leaned forward, an earnest expression on his face.

'We have reason to believe that the killer might have been seen by your husband,' he said, not even slightly ashamed of bending the truth at the moment. 'So we have to find him quickly.'

'But…' She was still hesitating. 'Ron? You can't mean that my _Ron_ is involved in this?'

'Where is Mr Lincoln?' asked Ironside. 'It is extremely important that I speak to him.'

The woman looked between Ironside and Eve, her lips pursed.

'He rushed off, he often does, leaving me here to tidy up' she said, the bitterness in her voice strong enough to strip paint. 'He got a call, I don't know who from. Off to be with his little club, I suppose.'

'Club? Which club?'

'I don't know it's name, don't know where it is either, before you ask. Nasty place anyway, wherever it is. He always comes back smelling of sweat and ashes. It's disgusting.'

That sounded exactly like the kind of place someone would use as a killing ground, and Ironside's confidence grew stronger. Lincoln _must_ be involved.

'How often?'

'Once a week, usually,' she said. 'Sometimes he gets an urgent message, and drops everything to go.'

Ironside considered this new information. If Lincoln was involved, then that fit the patterned well enough. They would find a new one and the call would go out as urgent. They would have to be killed quickly, after all. Ironside shuddered, thinking of Ed. He would have to be killed quickly too. They were running out of time.

'What else can you tell me?' he demanded. 'Anything?'

'Ron doesn't speak about it,' she said. 'Never has done. Likes his secrets, he does.'

'Nothing else?'

The woman shook her head, and there was a brief silence.

'They would probably be using Carlson's business as the front,' said Ironside to Eve. She nodded, but with little enthusiasm. The trouble was that there were so many different subsidiaries, and not all of them were in San Francisco, either. He thought about the large bundle of files that Ed had dumped on his desk hours earlier, and of all the hard work Ed had done in pulling it all together, and gave a little shiver. It was likely he wasn't going to get the chance to thank Ed now, or tell him that it hadn't been a waste of time.

_No. He couldn't think like that. He couldn't afford to wallow in panic just now._

'But how are we going to find out which one?' said Eve with a sigh. 'When the only clue is a bad smell.'

'Sweat and ashes,' echoed Ironside. Eve was right, there wasn't much to go on.

'What about the Carlson's Gun Club?' said Eve suddenly. 'The smell of cordite. Ashes! And what better place?'

For the first time in many hours, Ironside smiled. Yes, the Gun Club would be and excellent place for something like this. It was near the water, it was relatively out of the way, and club members could come and go as they pleased without anyone thinking twice about it. Also, it was a good link to John Carlson, and considering they were going to use him as a fall guy.

'Eve, call in to Headquarters. Get some cars to the Gun Club, as well as the homicide boys. And make sure they get there quick but go in easy. Tell them there's trouble.'

Eve moved to the phone.

'You can stay here with Mrs Lincoln to take a statement.' At that Eve scowled at him. 'And to make sure she doesn't use the phone.'

'What's that supposed to mean?' Mrs Lincoln demanded. Ironside ignored her.

'But what about you, Chief?' asked Eve.

Ironside didn't answer, but checked his watch. Ed had been missing all night. It had been over two hours since Ron Lincoln had left, it wouldn't take more than about thirty minutes to get from here to the club, forty at the outside. A cold spike of fear went down his spine, as far as it could go until it vanished at the point where _all_ the feeling stopped. Even allowing for delays, Sergeant Brown was most likely dead already.

He looked at Eve, seeing in her frightened expression that she had worked that out as well.

'Chief?' she asked quietly.

'The Gun Club. That's were _I'm_ going as well.'

* * *

Mark had followed Mikey through the basement and up some stairs to a plush-looking hallway. He was always on the look out for some hint as to where he was; that and a phone.

But this place was just like any other business building, full of locked door and empty corridors; he didn't know what he expected to find that would give him a clue to what it was. The only odd thing was a smell like bitter smoke, with some hash thrown in for good measure.

They stopped by one of the closed doors and Mikey reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys. He unlocked the door and they went inside.

It was an office, there was a fine leather seat behind the desk. On the wall above a small filing cabinet there was a pair of antique duelling pistols, an odd decoration in an otherwise ordinary building.

But Mark didn't spend too much time wondering about them, as he had spotted a telephone on the desk. Now all he had to do was use it.

'I'm going to check through here,' said Mikey, jerking is thumb towards a second set of doors that Mark hadn't noticed. 'Look in the desk to see what he's got.'

'What?' muttered Mark.

'Pills of course, man! What did you think? And the bottom drawer of that cabinet has a bottle of scotch in it. Get that too.'

A moment later, Mikey had turned the handle and was gone. Immediately, Mark ran to the phone and picked it up. He wasn't going to get another crack at this. He only had a few second before Mikey showed back up.

It was a huge chance to take, especially with the condition Ed was in downstairs, but he didn't have a lot of choice. He just hoped the Chief would pick up.

Mark dialled the office number, hardly daring to breath, and not knowing what he was going to say. But it rang and rang and rang, and no one answered. After just seven rings he put the phone down. If it hadn't been picked up by then, it wasn't going to be.

After taking a quick, anxious glance towards the far door, he tried again, this time with the van's number. Behind him, Mark heard a movement from the other doorway, the way they had come in and he jerked his head up. Mikey was standing there, looking at the phone with a curious expression on his face.

Mark froze, the receiver pressed against his ear but the number still not finished. He'd been caught.

* * *


	13. Well Known By Reputation

Chapter 12

Well Known By Reputation

'What you doing, Sanger?'

Mark didn't answer him, just let he phone slip away from his ear and back to the table, his knuckles white with the force of his grip.

How was he going to talk his way out of this? In a different life, before he'd met Ironside, it would have been easy to talk his way out, or just to run, plain and simple. But he had other responsibilities, not least to the man he'd just laid out cold.

'I asked you what you were doing, _Sanger_?' Mikey said.

For a moment, Mark considered telling the truth; it was a reasonable option and maybe he could try and talk Mikey into helping. But he knew that would never work, he wasn't skilled enough for that.

The other man looked Mark up and down. 'You're not the fuzz, are you? Who are you?'

Mikey was calm, a lot calmer than Mark would have expected. That couldn't be good.

What ace did he have to play? What were this man's weaknesses? Archie was a weakness, the way Mikey hung around him all the time. He liked to drink and he was easy to talk to, once he loosened up. Nothing of much help there.

Ok, what were his own strengths? Or what did he know that could scare Mikey enough to get him on side?

The Chief had always said: "if in doubt, _push_!". So he had to push Mikey into a different position, he had to upset the normality, he had to do or say something that would change Mikey's idea of what was going on.

But Mark's mind was a blank. He'd no plan, he'd nothing to say. Instead, he thought about Ed, lying handcuffed and helpless downstairs. Ed's life could be measured in minutes… what would Ironside do in this position? The Chief would have already have talked his way out of this, he would be downstairs having bluffed his way around Pete as well. Ironside was unstoppable!

 _Ironside_ … Suddenly, he had it, something so simple and so straightforward that it was amazing he hadn't thought of it before.

Instead of answering, Mark looked back at Mikey as confidently as he could, allowing a little smile onto his face.

'It's a simple enough question,' said Mikey.

Mark shook his head slowly, his allowing his smile to grow.

'I can't believe it,' he said., matching Mikey's calm tone 'You don't know, do you? Or else you have a death wish!'

'You're the one heading for a quick exit,' said Mikey.

'You sure about that? That cop downstairs, you've no idea who he is, do you. Listen to me, man, he's bad, _bad_ news.'

Mikey narrowed his eyes, taking a small step towards Mark.

'Then why did you hit him so hard? If he's such bad news?'

'I had to buy myself some time, man. Because, baby I am _out_ of here!' Mikey looked surprised. 'And if you had any sense you'd split too.'

'Why would I do that?'

'That cop, the one Pete's so proud of, you know who he is, don't you?'

'You keep on saying that like I should care. He's just some cop.'

Mark barked a laugh that sounded much more convincing than he thought it would.

'You cats just don't have a clue, do you? That isn't just _any_ cop, Mikey. I'm new around town and even I know you don't go messing with _Chief Ironside_!'

Confusion flooded Mikey's face and Mark offered up silent thanks that the Chief had such a fine reputation.

'Ironside?'

'Yeah, ol' fuzz-on-wheels himself. That man lying on the floor unconscious is his very own pet sergeant. And even I know you don't go around killing off Ironside's men, not for any kick. Not if you want to stay out of the gas chamber.'

Mikey stepped up to Mark in a manner that should have been threatening, if he hadn't been shaking at the same time. He was taking short, shallow breaths, his eyes searching Mark's face.

'How do you know?' Mikey hissed. ' _How_?'

'I'm not so green as you think,' snarled Mark. 'Why do you think I split from 'Fricisco in the first place? I'm not staying around here to see if he remembers me.'

A plan was forming in his mind as Mark's spoke. He would get Mikey to go first and take him out. Then he would get on the phone and call backup straightaway, and somehow get downstairs and hint that Mikey had done a runner, get most people out of that room and away from Ed, maybe even get to Ed's gun. Then he and Ed would stand a much better chance.

Mikey stared at Mark.

'You're wrong,' he said. 'You've got to be.'

Mark shook his head and crossed his arms, looking disinterestedly towards the door.

'You want to know what I think?' he said. 'I think you're being played for a fool by your friend Pete!'

'What?'

Mark leaned forward.

'I'll bet my last dollar that Pete knows exactly who that is. Pete's the man with the answers, right? He's gotta know who's who in this town. And he's gotta know that Ironside's not going to be fooled easily. It's not that hard to figure out who's going to take the fall.'

'Pete wouldn't do that to us,' Mikey said. 'No, Pete wouldn't.'

'You sure? You don't sound convinced to me.'

Mikey was silent, but Mark was sure he'd done enough. He was already thinking about the best way to get the others out of the basement when Mikey spoke.

'I can't leave without Archie,' he said.

Mark frowned. That wasn't supposed to happen.

'Why, man? Why not just the two of us split, right now?'

'Archie's my brother,' he said quietly. 'He's the only one in this whole goddamn world who's ever helped me out of a jam.'

Inwardly, Mark swore. That was going to make things a whole lot more complicated.

'Well,' he said hesitantly. 'Maybe you've got to help _him_ out of this one. If you can help him. Or maybe you should let him take care of himself.'

'You don't get it!' snapped Mikey. 'He can't! He needs me! After the army, he came back different. Then this little punk Ronnie Stevens starts mouthing off and the next thing I know, Archie's near enough killed him. Pete saw. Pete bailed us out. Helped us. He wouldn't…'

'I think he would,' said Mark. 'He's got more to lose than you do, either of you. He's in this for the kicks, man, he's not going to care if you or your brother go all the way to San Quentin.'

Mikey was silent.

'You're sure about this cop?' he asked eventually.

Mark nodded.

'If you've got doubts, why don't you just see if Pete knows who he is? I bet he does but just hasn't bothered telling any of you. You want to get involved with Ironside, that's your own bag, man, but I'm out of here. You don't get a first chance with that man, let alone a second.'

Mikey didn't say anything and, his confidence growing, Mark kept pushing.

'You're gonna have to level, Mikey,' Mark said. 'Where are we?' There was another silence. 'I want out, and so should you! Where _are_ we, man?'

'Carlson's Gun Club,' Mikey replied at last, his shoulders sagging down. Mark picked up the phone. 'What are you doing?'

'I want out!' snarled Mark. 'I said I was in, and I went along. But I'm not doing this. So you either let me get a pickup, or we're going to have a _problem_.'

Mikey's eyes flicked down to Mark's fist, then back to his face, maybe thinking about the punch Mark had given Ed.

'I could stop you right now,' said Mark quietly. 'Or I could walk away and let you deal with this mess on your own. Or I could help you. What's it gonna be, Mikey?'

There was a very long silence. It took all of Mark's nerve to keep staring at Mikey and not show his fear.

'Call,' Mikey said in a low voice. 'Get it over with.'

Mark breathed a soundless sigh of relief. He still wasn't out of this yet, but at least he was still in the game. As fast as he could, he dialled the van's number. It rang twice.

'Ir…'

'Need a pick up,' interrupted Mark loudly.

'Just wh…'

'Carlson's Gun Club.'

'W…'

'As fast as you can.'

Mark slammed the phone down like it was a hot iron and stepped quickly away from the desk. Mikey was watching him carefully.

'Ok, Mark,' he said. 'Now what are we gonna do?'

'Gimme time, man. We've got to think of a way out.'

'I can't leave Archie. And Pete wants the cop up and standing, and _dying_ as soon as he can.'

Mark's stomach twisted at the words. They weren't out of this yet, not by a long shot. But at least Ironside was on his way.

'Then we've gotta play along,' he said, 'and not get Pete suspicious, not let him know that _we_ know his game.'

Besides that, Mark knew he also had to try and get Ed in better shape, so if it came down to a fight, he'd have some sort of chance of living until Ironside showed.

'No!' said Mikey suddenly. 'You know what? I wanna talk to that cop. And you're coming too!'

* * *

Ed didn't open his eyes. Maybe it was just a nightmare…

_Mark was there. What in God's name was Sanger doing there? How? He had to keep his cool, and not blow Mark's cover. He kept on staring, not moving, not showing his fear. Behind, the crowded men started to get restless, the atmosphere oppressive and frightening. Mark stepped forward._

' _First blood. Hit him, show us what you think of cops!' Mark stood there, staring._

_Come on Mark. Come on. Do it. Just do it. Don't blow your cover. Do it!_

_'He ain't got it in him,' said a voice. A brief flicker of anger crossed Mark's face. All he had to do was take a swing._

_Don't blow your cover!_

_'He ain't got the nerve!'_

Suddenly, breath caught in Ed's throat. His heart was thumping. Not the usual, steady sixty beats per minute, but racing like it was the end of the world. What was going on?

Ed still didn't open his eyes, he wasn't sure that he could, and the left side of his face was aching. There were no sounds, and under his cheek was the familiar feeling of thick-pile carpet, and there was the same musty, smoky smell as earlier. It was a safe guess that he was back in that pokey little room, the one he's first been in. For a moment, he was tempted to think that the previous memories were just a bad dream, but the ache through his skull and the numbness across his jaw told him it had been real enough. He tried to move his mouth, but there was an unexpected, stinging pain by his left ear, at the top of his jawbone when he did. He would have frowned, but that would probably have hurt too.

What was going on?

He'd seen Mark. He didn't understand what Mark was doing there, and at first, he hadn't even looked at the other man. Instead, he had kept his gaze fixed on the back of the room, feeling incredibly uncomfortable; the pressure and tension from the gathered men was suffocating. But he had to keep his cool. And he had to hope Mark wasn't going to blow his cover and do something stupid.

' _Hit him!'_

The words flashed back and Ed twitched, twisting away from the imaginary people surrounding him.

He had looked back as arrogantly as he could, tilting his chin towards Sanger, challenging him to do as Paxton said, and praying that he would that up that challenge.

_'Hit him!'_

And Mark had. Ed had thought that seeing Mark like that had been the biggest shock of his life; but that was _nothing_ compared to the shock he'd experience at the force Sanger had put behind that punch. His head was still ringing.

He still didn't open his eyes. What was the point? He could feel the familiar grip of steel handcuffs, he wasn't going anywhere. So he lay there, his eyes still shut, pulling together as many memories as he could. All things considered, a black eye and a broken jaw were the least of his worries.

Mark was undercover, and he was "in", but it was unlikely he was in far enough to be completely free from suspicion. And, more importantly, it was unlikely he'd have been able to get any backup. And, even if he had somehow managed to contrive to get in touch with the outside world, since they were on a tight time limit, it was unlikely that any backup would arrive fast enough to get him out of this.

He knew he had to do something, but he had no idea what. The room was locked down tighter than San Quentin; he knew that from the futile and terrifying few hours before when he had tried in vain to get himself out. And now it was unlikely he'd be able stand up, even assuming he could summon the coordination to try.

Suddenly, there was noise that was amplified to a roar by his aching head; the crash of a door opening and the thunderous stomp of footsteps across the carpet.

The door closed with a clang and Ed realised someone was there, in the room with him. But he still didn't open his eyes. At that moment, he wasn't sure that he could.

'I need answers, cop,' said a man close beside him. It was someone new; Ed didn't recognise the voice, he was sure of that.

His head was lifted a few inches off the floor and there was the smell of scotch under his nose as an open bottle was pushed hard to his lips. He struggled, trying to twist away, his hands tugging uselessly at the cuffs. But the bottle was raised higher, making it hard to breathe. Unable to do anything else except suffocate, Ed drank.

But it wasn't just scotch, there was a gritty feel to the liquid, as if something had been crushed up and partially dissolved. He tried to spit it out, but that didn't work, and only made him swallow more. The alcohol burned his throat and he coughed, feeling some of the alcohol going up the back of his nose.

'Hey man, take it easy!' But Ed did recognise that voice… _that_ was Mark!

He tried to say something, but the words didn't make it from his brain to his mouth. The alcohol hit his empty stomach like liquid lead and he was almost sick.

'Hey, wake up!' said the first voice. A warm hand tapped the right side of his face, in a surprisingly gentle way. Ed tried ineffectually to pull out of his grasp. 'C'mon! Wake up!'

Slowly, and very painfully, Ed tried to open his eyes. Only the right one worked, the left one remained shut.

Having his eyes open made his head hurt more. Everything was blurred, each of the lights in the ceiling were as bright as the midday sun. But there was a dark haired young man holding what was likely a bottle, kneeling beside him.

He moved his lips, trying to speak, but only a groan came out. The man peered at him.

'You need to tell me something,' the young man said, moving close. 'Who's your boss?'

What a flaming _stupid_ question! At a time like this, who was going to care who he worked for? They were gonna kill him, so what did it matter? Then a glimmer of memory came back to Ed, of the conversation that Paxton had had earlier. What if Paxton had kept his connection with Ironside a secret? The others were likely to be really _pissed off_ if that were true, most people in the city knew the Chief's rep. And maybe Mark had been stirring trouble.

'Who's your boss? C'mon, I gotta know.'

'I-I…' he tried to say. His mouth and jaw ached as he spoke and his voice sounded like someone else's.

'Who?'

'Ir- ron- _side._ ' he gasped.

The young man swore; for a full minute he reeled off colourful euphemisms without ever repeating himself.

'I told you, man,' Ed heard Mark say when the diatribe had finished. 'And you don't go messing around with him.'

'We've gotta get out of this place,' the man said. 'I've gotta get Archie, and we've gotta split.'

Ed opened his mouth to say something, help Mark push the situation, but he was overcome by a wave of… he wasn't even sure he could describe it. He'd had never felt so unusual in his life, and it was not a feeling that he liked one little bit. Some of his discomfort must have been visible on his face.

'Mikey, what did you _give_ him?' asked Mark suddenly.

'Uppers. Might have been speed, I don't know. Nothing too heavy, we don't have junk like that in the Club.'

'Man!' Mark was suddenly by his side, his voice disproportionately loud and wobbling. Ed blinked at him. 'Look at him, how much did you give him?'

There was a deafening sound of sloshing as Mark grabbed the nearly empty bottle from Mikey.

'Three or four of the blue ones,' Mikey said. 'I don't know. All I found.'

Now it was Mark's turn to swear. He loomed close to Ed, his eyes like great big, white flashbulbs with tiny black dots in the centre.

'Hey man, you still with us?'

Ed tried to reply, but the room was expanding too fast. He felt like he was falling.

He'd seen the effects of drugs in others, and he'd heard about it, but there was nothing to prepare him for what it felt like. His head wasn't so much aching any more as spinning, his heart was thumping like he'd just spent the past half hour out on a football field, and there was an odd and unpleasant feeling of excitement though him, as if he could suddenly do anything he wanted along with a sense of tremendous anticipation. He could feel his arms and legs shaking and there was a thousand sharp pin-pricks all over them, as if he were surrounded by nipping insects.

As Ed stared, Mark nodded very, very slowly, then looked towards Mikey with a smile, and for the first time in hours Ed felt like this might actually work out ok, in spite of the strange, overwhelming sensations he was experiencing.

Then, as if caused by his thought, there was the heavy scraping noise from behind them, and both Mark and Mikey jerked around towards the door. As it opened, Ed could make out the rough shapes of two men. Ed peered harder, but he couldn't make out exactly who they were.

A voice boomed out through the room.

'It's time!' said Peter Paxton, throwing something shiny at Mikey. 'Get him up. And the cuffs. We're waiting.'

* * *


	14. A Hope And A Prayer

Chapter 13

A Hope And A Prayer

Ironside sat in his van, slumped down in his wheelchair, his arms cross and glaring at the floor. They were going too slowly. So what if the van handled like a bumper car with concrete shock absorbers? That was no reason for them to be going so _FLAMIN' SLOWLY_! They had to get to the Gun Club!

He'd checked with HQ, and as many the cars as were in the area would be at the Club soon, but he had no idea exactly _when_ ; maybe they would get there before the van. Maybe not. He had to plan for either eventuality.

Ironside had doubts about any delay, but he couldn't go in without any backup at all; a few years ago, there had been a time when he would have done exactly that but now, stuck in his wheelchair, that was impossible. If Ed had been here, it would have been his job to go in and make sure the arrests were made cleanly. Ironside had the seeking suspicion that Ed hated _always_ being the one who had to deputise for the Chief in these situations, although there wasn't usually any other way, and Ed had never complained, not to his face anyway.

As they waited at a red light, the thought that they were going to be too late crossed Ironside's mind. What if he was? What if he _wasn't_?

At the moment, Ed was likely still alive. Mark's abrupt call, and it _had_ been Mark he was certain, came as unexpected good news, but the relief he'd felt was only fleeting. There wasn't much time left. And with such a short deadline, there was no time for finesse and little else Ironside could do but go in with as many men as he could, and hope for the best.

The van lurched forward again.

At least Mark would be expecting them. There were questions, of course. How had Mark been there? How did he know? He hadn't mentioned Ed, but Ironside made the link anyway. But did Mark know what was going on? There was an outside chance that it was something else.

Whichever way it was going to play, Mark was at the Gun Club, and that was where Ron Lincoln had gone; the connection was too good to ignore. The Gun Club was perfect, and Ironside was sure that was where they'd find Ed too, whatever shape he was in.

Ed was fit and strong, he had a good reach as well, being so tall, and he knew how to handle himself. But though he knew the moves, he wasn't a professional fighter, and against someone who'd been trained to fight and who wanted to kill, he would struggle to last for long. And he might be pushed into fighting back; it wasn't as if Ed hadn't killed in the line of duty before. But one-on-one like this, no holds barred until one of them fell? That was _different_.

A moment of self-recrimination was all he allowed himself, barely even a minute. He should never have let Eve go out last night; and he shouldn't have assigned Ed to tail her, not without knowing more about what was going on. He should have given Ed more cover. He'd been too quick to jump to conclusions about Carlson, something that he did not _usually_ do. He'd acted without getting more information, and he'd been fooled into thinking the way he was supposed to think. He drew a short breath, forcing his anger back into its place. Regret wasn't going to do any good. If only they could get this over with, he could worry about regret later, in private, when people weren't relying on him to do his job.

Ironside's face remained set as he looked out of the van's window, silently urging the driver to go faster.

* * *

Ed felt like panicking. More than that, he felt like he _should_ be panicking. But instead, he sat half-upright on the floor, twisted at an awkward angle, looking up at the men in the doorway.

He didn't react to the unexpected arrival of the two men, beyond a slight movement of his head. He had no idea he would take this so calmly. Maybe it was the uppers. Maybe it was the scotch. But deep down, he knew it was too late to do anything else.

Paxton was there, and the man Paxton had referred to as Archie as well, blocking his only way out.

Mikey rose, crossing his arms as he did.

'You've got a lot of goddamn explaining to do, Paxton!' he snarled.

'Mikey? What's going on?'

'I've found out!' spat Mikey. 'I know who the cop is!' There was silence. 'Chief Robert Ironside is his goddamn _boss_!'

Everyone, Ed included, turned to look at Peter Paxton. He looked back at the group without a trace of concern.

'And who told you _that_?' snarled Paxton. Ed held his breath, expecting Mikey to point the finger at Mark. But instead, Mikey jerked his thumb in Ed's direction and Paxton gave Ed an extremely _unpleasant_ look.

'So what?' said Paxton, pulling his gaze away from Ed. 'Why should that bother us?' Ironside isn't gonna find us.'

'You son of a bitch, you _did_ know!'

'Calm down, Mikey.'

'How are we supposed to be calm? This is bad, man, real bad. It's trouble.'

'There's gonna be no trouble if you keep your cool, Mikey.'

'Keeping your cool isn't going to help. Ironside's not just any old cop with a shiny badge and an open hand, and he's gonna come after us. And he's gonna find us.'

The pride Ed had felt earlier returned, and he would have smiled if his mouth and face hadn't hurt so much.

'Calm down, Mikey' Paxton said more loudly.

Mikey took a step towards the man beside Paxton, his palms upwards to the ceiling. As he moved, Ed had to blink hard to try and keep him in focus.

'Archie, can't you see? This is it. C'mon man, you can't do this and live.'

But Archie looked back at Mikey with a blank stare and shrugged.

'I don't _care_. Cop's gonna _get it_!'

Paxton gave Mikey a nasty grin.

'It's going down,' Paxton said. 'Ironside's boy or _not_ , there's no other way.'

'You can't do this to us, Pete!'

'You're panicking because it's Ironside? So what if it's Ironside?'

'But…'

'No one had picked up a hint of anything until we wanted them too. We can get round Ironside.'

'How can you say that? You know his rep on the street, man!'

'No one is infallible.'

'If they find Archie, he is going to the gas chamber.'

Paxton swooped over to beside Mikey, looming large in Ed's distorted vision.

'We're all going to the gas chamber if we're caught!' Paxton said with a hiss. 'I know that as well as anyone else. There's no need to lose your cool over this. Ironside is just a cop.'

He and Mikey glared at each other, Mikey's fists thrust down and rigid by his side, the knuckles white.

Any moment, Ed expected Mikey to say something about Mark, since it was clear to Ed that Mark had been the instigator in this. But Mikey just looked at Paxton, disgust and fury on his face. High as a cloud, Ed was still in control enough to know that he couldn't afford to give them any hint about Mark. He didn't even dare look at the other man, and neither Paxton nor Mikey were aware of anyone but each other.

There was silence for what felt like _hours_ to Ed, stretching out in the most improbable of ways. For how long could two men stand and glare at each other?

Then Mikey looked away first, down to the floor.

'Good, so that's settled then,' Paxton said firmly. 'Let's get this over with!'

It took Ed a couple of seconds to realise what Paxton meant, and by that time Mikey had unlocked the handcuffs and Archie had grabbed Ed's arm and started to drag him towards the door. As Ed tried to fight back, Paxton caught his other arm, twisting it behind his back with considerable force.

'Man, this is gonna be _easy_ ,' Ed heard Archie mutter as he was pulled forward.

'Just make it look good,' said Paxton in a low voice. 'They've paid for this privilege, remember.'

The next door opened, the other room was almost the same as he remembered it, except for a dull murmuring and shuffling of feet. As he was brought forward, the noise petered out, and all the men stepped back against the wall.

As he stood there in the burning white light, Ed caught sight of Mark moving to the far end with Mikey just behind, and he forced himself not to watch what his colleague was doing. He had bigger problems at the moment, and he knew that he couldn't rely on Mark to help; if Mark's cover was blown Paxton would probably just shoot them both and be done with it. He had to deal with this himself, on his own.

The room went quiet, a sense of anticipation crushing down on Ed. Then his arms were released and he was pushed forward, and staggered slightly. The edges of the room slid out of focus and his heartbeat was still racing.

Archie was close by his side, facing him. The silence held as they stood there. Archie looked Ed in the eye; there was no gloating or jeering expression, just an air of calm confidence. Ed looked back, aware that his breathing was short and shallow; his hands were shaking. There was no way out of this. He really had to fight for his life. _Oh God_ …

Suddenly Archie swung with his right hand. Ed recognised a feint, and sure enough the left came round a moment later, and Ed was able to block it with his arm. But even that was unexpectedly painful, making his forearm slightly numb. As he staggered, the right hook came round again, lower this time, and catching him just below his ribs.

Ed gasped as pain spread through his torso. It was sore, but not as sore as it should have been. He looked up and saw Archie grinning.

He stepped back a half-step, lifting his arms into guard, never taking his eyes of the other man. Archie stepped forward to attack again and they traded punches and blocks for about a minute, not doing any real damage. Ed felt the shaking growing less, he was getting more control, at least for the moment. His opponent had to have a weakness, and it didn't take Ed long to figure out what it was. Archie wasn't putting his full strength into his attack, and he was starting to get sloppy, not keeping his guard up as high, and not keeping moving. Occasionally, he would cast a fleeting look towards Paxton, presumably for approval.

But for Ed nothing else mattered; just staying on his feet and staying alive mattered. That was all, and he could keep focus on that. Archie underestimated him, that was clear enough from his stance, and Ed would keep playing to that advantage for as long as he could. The longer he strung this out, the better chance of help getting here in time.

He had no idea for how long they fought, playing cat and mouse, but somehow Ed always lost more than he gained. His face hurt, his sides hurt and every breath he took made everything more painful. Any injury he'd caused Archie didn't appear to bother the man, as if he couldn't feel it. Perhaps he didn't. A nasty though occurred to Ed; that maybe he wasn't the only one drugged up for this display.

Eventually, there was noise from outside his narrow window of perception; perhaps it was someone speaking, Ed couldn't be sure. Archie then hunched himself forward, taking a more aggressive stance and he lashed out again, left, right, left in quick succession, much faster and harder than he had before. The second and third punches found their targets and Ed staggered, the agonising pain in his jaw taking him by surprise. He vision blurred and he dropped his guard, lifting his hand to his eyes.

With a low growl, Archie thrust his right fist out in a lightning attack, and Ed didn't see it coming until it was almost too late.

Somehow, though he wasn't sure quite how he'd done it, Ed was fast enough to move back and avoid the wild swing. He felt the cold rush of air as the fist whizzed past his nose.

As Archie scowled, Ed stepped back, out of range of his jab, the pain in his face slightly less. His own racing heartbeat was almost all that Ed could hear, but distant in the background he thought there was a slight cheer, just fuzzy noise.

Archie swung again in a combination, with Ed only managing to block two out of the four punches. They hurt, but again it wasn't as painful as if could have been, the power had gone out of Archie's arm. There was no doubt about it now. He was being toyed with; Archie was doing as Paxton wanted, and stringing it out for as long as he could, slowly weakening him until he could go in for the kill. The thought made Ed shudder. He was just entertainment.

There was a cry from somewhere outside the room, but Ed paid no attention; he couldn't afford to let his guard down and stayed completely focused on his opponent.

So when Archie glanced to the side, Ed struck out with a right hook, fast and hard, swinging his shoulders to get more power, and catching Archie by surprise for the first time.

The other man reeled back with a howl of surprised and pain. But he turned to face Ed, his face was livid with anger, blood streaming down his chin from a cut on his lip.

Ed recoiled from the violence and rage in the other man's eyes. He really was going to kill. And this was a fight Ed was never going to win unless he was a ruthless as his opponent, unless he too fought with the intention of killing. As that realisation hit Ed, Archie launched himself forward, grabbing at Ed's throat, and trying to knock him over.

There was another shout, and this time the word caught Ed's attention: _Cop_.

For the first time since the fight started, Ed looked around, seeing what was happening to everyone else. The other men were moving in a panicking mass. Mark was still there, but there was a great deal of confusion. Ed caught sight of Peter Paxton, white faced and backing away towards the door.

Suddenly, Archie cannoned into him, knocking him backwards against the wall, and knocking the breath out of him once more.

Mark started forward, Ed saw him out of the corner of his eye. But he was too dazed to do anything but stare as Archie bore down on him, his hands tight around Ed's throat, crushing his windpipe.

Ed might have blacked out for a moment, as the next thing he knew he was propped up against the wall, the pressure on his throat was gone, as was Archie. There was a loud shout.

People were everywhere, far more than there were when this show had started, but as he pushed himself up, he saw Mark on the floor close by looking dazed with Archie standing over him, lifting his fist and about to bring it down across Mark's face. Without hesitation, Ed threw himself towards the two men, hooking his arm around Archie's waist and tackling him to the ground, away from Mark.

Carried by his own momentum, there was nothing Ed could do to slow his fall. He was going to land at a bad angle, partly underneath his opponent, and it was going to hurt!

A fraction of a second later, Ed's side hit the concrete and he was crushed under Archie's considerable weight. He would have cried out in pain and surprise, but the force of the impact had knocked most of the air out of his lungs already, so he only gave a small wheeze. Aware that Archie had the advantage, he tried to get himself out as fast as he could, but to his surprise, though Archie moved, there was no attack.

Instead, there was the blur of fast movement. He saw many more people that there had been a few moments ago, and suddenly Archie was pulled off him. Ed looked up in a daze to the man who had helped, with a vague feeling of recognition. He looked at the sea of motion behind, realising that these men were cops. The white noise suddenly snapped into focus, and Ed heard them talking, giving orders, and making arrests. Archie was pulled away and handcuffed as Ed watched, Peter Paxton already being marched towards the door.

Ed blinked hard, or tried to. He looked up to the plainclothes officer that had Archie by the arm, and gave the ghost of a smile.

'You can take it easy, Sergeant Brown,' said an unfamiliar voice. 'Everything's under control.'

Ed nodded faintly. Then Mark appeared at his side, wiping the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.

'Hey, man!' he said to Ed, gripping his shoulder gently, but the touch still sent a lance of pain across Ed's back. 'Hey man, it's good to see you in one piece. You fight well for a cop, you know that?'

In response, Ed gave a half-nod and closed his eyes, letting his head drop forward, overcome a relief that he didn't want anyone to see.

It was over.

Ed stayed still, comforted by the presence of his friend and the other officers, willing his heart to stop racing. He ached just about everywhere he could still feel, but somehow it was all too far away to really _matter_. He let the sounds of the other officers doing their work wash past him. He could worry about it all a little later; just now he had to concentrate on not being sick.

But then there was the sound of metal wheels on concrete, and that made Ed open his eyes.

The Chief himself loomed in the doorway, looking between Ed and Mark as they sat side by side on the floor. Ed stared back, slightly dazed, but Ironside did not smile, and his expression was one of fury and disgust.

The relief Ed had felt just a moment before vanished, the enormous feeling of guilt that he'd had earlier coming back. He might be still alive, but he wasn't out of trouble yet.

* * *


	15. Locked Up And Closed Down

Chapter 14

Locked Up And Closed Down

Reporting back to Commissioner Randall was never going to be the easiest part of his job, but the Chief knew it would only get harder the longer he put it off. So as soon as he had completed his preliminary report, Ironside presented it to Dennis in person at the Commissioner's office.

Dennis read it slowly, deliberately taking his time and Ironside waited as calmly as he could.

'Well,' Randall said, sitting back in his chair. 'I have to say that _overall_ , I'm impressed, Bob. Seven murders solved in one day, a violent gang apprehended with the minimum of fuss and effort, and eight men in custody. The Mayor will be delighted that they are off the streets.'

'Yes, Commissioner.' Ironside braced himself for more. Dennis was being far too _nice_ about this. Then Randall leaned forward, his arms on his desk. The office was suddenly very quiet.

'But am I correct in saying that this was _not_ a model operation?' the Commissioner said seriously. 'And I am not pleased, Bob. Are you?'

Ironside considered the question very carefully.

He _was_ pleased that it was over, and he was pleased that they had the whole gang apprehended, from Peter Paxton all the way down to Carlson's chauffer. And he was also very pleased that they had arrived so quickly at the Gun Club, and that his two colleagues were still alive when they got there.

But he was _not_ pleased that it had happened in the first place. In fact, he was furious at himself. He'd been too keen to act, and to quick to jump to conclusions. He'd underestimated Paxton, and Ed had very nearly been killed because of it.

That last fact was the most worrying part of this whole mess. They were just in time, judging by the extent of Ed's injuries and he wouldn't have lasted more than another few minutes, even high on whatever they'd given him. It had been _that_ close; and that fact hurt and sickened Ironside just as much as seeing the pain that his protégé had suffered at the hands of people who murdered others for sport.

He shuddered slightly. A few more minutes and his error would have cost Ed's life.

The Commissioner closed the file he'd been looking at, but didn't put it down. Ironside could sense Randall watching him, but he made no attempt to reply. He could guess what Dennis was leading up to.

'Well, Bob,' said Randall with a sigh, 'apart from the arrests, there is the question of the actions of your people.' Ironside looked up expectantly. 'Sergeant Brown and Mark Sanger, just what are you going to do to them? It was only blind luck that got you there in time to bail them out. The undercover work was a mess, Bob. Their mess!'

'What do you mean?' said Ironside with a scowl. 'I was the one in charge of the operation. So it's technically _my_ mess!'

The Commissioner stared at him for a moment longer then an amused smile spread over his face; a look that Ironside did not appreciate in the slightest.

'Alright, then,' said Randall. 'You take responsibility for their actions?'

'Of course I do!' snapped Ironside. 'And _I_ should have known. I should never have left either of them in such vulnerable positions. So if anyone needs suspending over this, it's _me_.'

The amused smile suddenly vanished.

'Don't be ridiculous, Bob! I can't suspend _you_!'

'I was responsible for the operation,' Ironside reminded him. 'They were following my instructions, as best they could in the circumstances.'

Dennis raised the file and waved it at Ironside.

'As far as I can see it, Mark showed a flagrant disregard for those instructions, and Brown… well, I never would have expected a man with his record to be so easy to fool.'

'There was no way he could have known that it was a trap,' Ironside said quickly, favouring Randall with a scowl. 'He was doing his job, not wasting his energy on looking over his shoulder all the time when he should have been concentrating on Eve.'

'But his car is wrecked, Bob, through Brown's negligence,' Randall continued, in a very reasonable tone, a tone that Ironside had never liked. 'And police cars aren't cheap, you know.'

'Commissioner Randall…!'

'I've read Donally's report,' Dennis said, ignoring Ironside. 'I take it there is there something you want to add?'

Ironside furrowed his eyebrows, keeping his gaze fixed on the Commissioner.

'I'm sure you wouldn't want to punish someone for what something that was beyond their control, Dennis,' he said.

' _Was_ it beyond his control?'

'Of course it was!' Ironside growled. 'Ed should have had more cover. And _that_ miscalculation was mine, not his.'

'Nevertheless, the car was in his care when it was stolen, Bob. The rules clearly state that it should come out of his pay-check.'

'It didn't the _last_ time this happened.'

'Bob, that was different,' snapped Randall. 'He was forced off the road by a car thief.'

'As I understand it, this was about the same. He was targeted. That he got to the curb before they stuck was just a credit to his driving. Should he be penalised for that?'

There was a thoughtful silence and Ironside watched the Commissioner shift in his chair.

'Ok, Bob,' Randall said at last. 'But what about the rest of it? You can't possibly argue that he wasn't at fault.'

'The gang wanted a cop. They chose him. I don't think _he_ had much option.'

There was a short but decidedly frosty pause as the two men glared at each other.

'I understand how you feel, Bob, but in this case that is immaterial,' said Randall firmly. 'He's not fit for active duty.'

'What the _flamin'_ …'

'He's not been cleared by the doctors. I had the hospital on the telephone an hour ago. A dislocated jaw, mild concussion, plus the effects of a prolonged fight, not to mention enough amphetamine in his system to keep him awake from now until next Tuesday. He needs time to recover.'

'But-'

'And he's not going to be cleared until he _has_ recovered,' said Dennis loudly. 'Properly recovered, mind you, Bob! So you can cope without him for a couple of weeks. And that's my final word.'

'Weeks?'

'Yes, Bob, _weeks_. I don't want you bullying him into returning early.' Dennis gave Ironside a particularly knowing look. 'It's for his own good.'

'But what am I going to tell him?' snapped Ironside, only just managing to control his temper. 'He was suspended for _surviving?_ '

'Oh, for goodness sake, it's not a suspension. Let him have a rest, Bob,' said Dennis crossly. 'The Lord knows he deserves it. No one should go through something like that. Let him take some time off.'

'Ed doesn't need some time off, he needs to get back to work to take his mind of it.'

'That's immaterial as he's not fit for active duty. _Doctor's orders_!' Randall said.

'But-'

'No! He rests until he's cleared by the doctors for work. As I said, it's my _final_ word!' Randall slapped the file he was holding down on the desk, peering at Ironside over the top of his glasses. 'And then there's Mark…'

'Mark Sanger is my problem, not yours,' growled Ironside. 'He doesn't work for the department, he works for me.'

'He was on an undercover assignment supervised by the police force.'

'Informal only, Dennis.'

'That's not how I remember it!'

'He did it of his own choice. He was the one on the scene. He was the one who understood best what the choices were.' Dennis opened his mouth to say something, but Ironside got there first. 'And he acted with my full support. They _both_ did.

Dennis closed his mouth then shook his head with a resigned sigh, as if he understood that there were some arguments that he could never win, especially when it came to Ironside's staff.

'And just _where_ are Mark and Ed?' the Commissioner asked.

'I imagine they're waiting for me back at my office,' Ironside said at last. 'Assuming the hospital's finished with them.'

'Have you spoken with either of them?'

'I've had the main details from Mark, that's all,' Ironside replied. There was a moment's hesitation before he added, 'I haven't had the chance to speak to Ed yet.'

That was a small bending of the truth. He couldn't have spoken to Ed at the time, not in that stark, seedy little room where he'd had almost died. Seeing that place for himself, Ironside couldn't speak to anyone, such was his disgust and fury: Disgust at the people who'd done this, not just to Ed, but to the others who had already died in there like animals brought in for entertainment; and fury at himself for letting him face this situation without proper backup. Ed, and Mark as well, had trusted that Ironside knew what he was doing; and this time they'd been wrong.

The Commissioner was waiting for him to say something. For one last time, the two men looked at each other.

'You have a success, Commissioner,' Ironside reminded him. 'A violent, dangerous gang apprehended for the cost of some overtime and a police car. The Mayor will be very _pleased_ , so why don't you concentrate on that and let me handle the rest of the details, in my own way?'

Dennis' shoulders sagged and his expression grew grumpy and exasperated, a clear sign to Ironside that the Commissioner had given up arguing.

'Do you _have_ to make things so difficult for me all the time?' Randall asked at last.

'You've got the easy part this time,' Ironside said. 'Besides, you wouldn't expect anything else, would you?'

* * *

Only Mark was in the Chief's office when Ed arrived back from the hospital. He walked unsteadily down the steps, for once using the railing, towards the seat. Mark watched him, not saying anything as he walked over to the table and sank slowly and painfully down into one of the chairs.

He wasn't even sure that being here was a good idea. Half of his face was still numb, but the rest of him, his abdomen chest and neck, as well as his arms, ached like he'd been working-out for twenty-four hours straight. Worse than that, though his body was exhausted he knew he couldn't sleep; he was far too jumpy to sleep even though he longed to close his eyes and rest.

But no matter how he felt, he knew he had to face the Chief's wrath, and he wanted it to be sooner, rather than later.

As they sat, Mark and Ed looked at each other in silence. Earlier at the Gun Club, after Ironside had arrived, Ed couldn't be sure of what had happened, as most of the events were a blur. But the Chief had clearly been furious and before Ed could say anything to his boss, or to Mark, other people had gotten in his way, helping him out of the room and off towards the hospital.

Ed's gaze finally came to rest on the bandage on Mark's hand.

'You ok?' he asked as last.

'What? This?' Mark replied lifting his hand. 'Just bruised, nothing bad. I can't make coffee for a while.' There was a momentary pause and Mark looked away before adding: 'Hey man… you know, I'm sorry about hitting you. Are we cool?'

Ed nodded slowly. It had been a tough call, he'd had seen it on Mark's face. If the situation had been reversed Ed knew he would have found it just as difficult.

'You did what you had to do,' he replied.

'That doesn't make me feel any better, man,' Mark said. 'This undercover gig is not as easy as it looks from the outside.'

'No,' Ed replied. There was a pause. 'I wondered if you'd go through with it. But if you hadn't, we'd both be dead.'

Mark nodded, but didn't look Ed in the eye.

'As I said, it is _not_ as easy as it looks.'

There was another pause, Ed feeling suddenly nervous as he contemplated asking his next question.

'You spoken to the Chief?'

Mark nodded slowly and Ed's discomfort grew more acute.

'Man, was that a conversation I would have passed on,' Mark said with great feeling. 'Just got down the basics, he was not in the mood to hear about anything else.'

Ed nodded, swallowing hard, his mouth dry.

'Did he say _anything_? Anything, y'know, about…?'

'He knew how they found you, if that's what you mean,' Mark said. 'They had the full story from the chauffer.' There was a hesitation in his tone that made Ed wondered what else Mark knew.

' _And_?'

'And he found your police car under a utility pole too. He _really_ wasn't happy about that. The keys were in the ignition.'

Ed swore to himself, grateful that the bruising on his face hid the fact that he turned red. He'd been far too careless.

'The Chief's gonna bust me so far down the ranks, I'll never see daylight again,' Ed murmured leaning forward to put his head in his hands.

'It's not gonna be that bad,' said Mark. Ed looked up, his eyebrows raised. 'Is it?'

'Let's just say that I'd rather take another of your punches than face the Chief over this.'

Mark frowned at that statement, and Ed regretted mentioning it.

'Not that I want to get on the wrong end of a punch like that again,' he said as lightly as he could.

'You know, it's a good job you didn't move, or I might have missed,' Mark said seriously.

' _Missed_?'

'I might have broken your nose, man. Or worse!'

Ed winced, aware that he'd gotten off _lightly_. It had been bad enough getting out of the hospital as it was, he was still technically high on the uppers he'd been given, and had enough pain medication to rival a drug store. It was only his slightly squint but winning smile, and some fast talking that had stopped him being kept in there overnight for observation.

There was the sound of the elevator, and Mark and Ed both tensed, looking at each other.

'Brace yourself, here he comes,' Mark said.

They looked to the door, but even before it opened, Ed could see that it wasn't Ironside; it was Eve. She opened the door with a push and stalked over to them, standing with her hands on her hips.

'Well?' she demanded.

Ed tried his best to smile at her.

'Hey!'

'Don't "hey" me, Edward Brown!' she snapped 'What are you doing here? Don't think I don't know what the doctors said!'

'Well, news _does_ travel fast in this department.'

'You should have gone home. The Chief's not going to fire you if you take a little time off, you know. Not after…' she stopped abruptly, not looking at Ed's face.

'Does the not-being-fired part come with a guarantee?' Ed asked, filling in the awkward silence.

'Well, no. I suppose not but…'

'Then I'll take my chances here.'

The uneasy silence held for a few seconds, then Eve smiled back at him. She put her hand on his shoulder, leaving it there as she sat down in the seat next to him.

'I am pleased you're ok,' she said. 'You are, aren't you?'

'The doc said I'd live,' Ed replied.

'But you look terrible,' she said.

'Thanks, that's just what I needed to hear.'

Ed caught sight of Mark giving a slight smirk out of the corner of his eye. Eve saw it too, as she turned to glare at Mark.

'And as for you,' she said, her glare returning. 'Did you ever hear of such a thing as calling-in when undercover?'

Before he could answer, there was the sound of the elevator again, and Mark and Ed looked at each other. Ed drew a deep breath, bracing himself for the worst.

* * *

By the time Ironside arrived back at the office, it was almost dark. Surprisingly, it was quiet, and at first he expected it to be empty, but for Eve. But as he rolled himself through the door, he saw Mark and Ed sitting at opposite ends of the table, not looking at each other, with Eve sitting between them, angled protectively near Ed as if to try and shield him from the Chief's wrath.

Not breaking the silence, Ironside rolled down the ramp and over to between Eve and Mark. Then he glanced around the table at the three others, his face stern.

'Ok,' said the Chief calmly, looking at Ed, then Mark. 'I have just come from the Commissioner's office. And now I want a proper explanation of this _mess_ ,' Neither man spoke, so Ironside rounded on Mark first.

'You, Mr Sanger!'

'Chief?' Mark didn't return his stony glare, but looked away to the floor.

'You're job, the one I gave you, was recognisance only. I did _not_ tell you to go so deep undercover that no one could find you. You risked yourself, and risked blowing the whole operation if you were discovered. You were supposed to just be gathering information.'

'Yes, Chief,' Mark murmured, not looking up.

'You can't possibly expect me to be pleased with that.'

'Well, it crossed my mind that…'

'That you endangered yourself in such a reckless way is what worries me the most, Mr Sanger,' Ironside said, his voice rising.

'It was a _calculated_ risk, man!' Mark replied, this time glaring back. 'What else was I supposed to do? It was going down, with or without me.'

As Mark and Ironside face each other, the tension that had gathered dissolved into the silence.

'I know,' the Chief said more quietly. 'And the fact that you came through it relatively unscathed is a credit to your ingenuity.' There was a momentary pause as Mark's gaze change to one of surprise. 'And then there's the fact that your actions undoubtedly saved your colleague's life.'

'Chief?'

'Mark, I should never have put you in that position. You should _not_ have had to act, and if you had been properly covered, you wouldn't have had to. It would never have gone this far.'

'Chief?' Mark's expression was bordering on the _grateful_ , and that was as much as Ironside could stand.

'And as for you!' Ironside turned to scowl at Ed.

For the first time in the conversation, Ed looked up him. Even after a trip to the hospital, he was still a mess, his face covered in small cuts and bruises. But by far the most noticeable injury was across his left eye, half-closed with a livid bruise that was already turning purple. That must have hurt like hell.

'I'm sorry for messing up, Chief,' Ed murmured, his voice sounding slurred. 'It was a mistake.'

'You're flamin' well right it was a mistake, _Sergeant_ Brown! I had you on duty because I thought you were competent enough to handle it, not get taken out like some rookie on his first stakeout!'

'Chief, that's not fair,' chipped in Eve. 'Ed wasn't to know.'

Much to Ironside's surprise, Ed beat him to the reply.

'But he's right,' the sergeant said. 'I should have been paying more attention. I got so caught up in it that I didn't keep a good enough eye on what else was going on around me. It made me an easy target. Too easy.'

'Well, at least it's _not_ a mistake you're likely to make again.'

' _No_.' There was real feeling behind that word.

There was silence for a few moments, Ed looking down at the table. But Ironside knew he had to say more.

'Even so, Ed, you are not to come in tomorrow,' said Ironside.

'What?' the word was just a whisper, but loaded with emotion.

'Don't make me _call_ it a suspension, Sergeant Brown!'

'But…'

'Not tomorrow, or the next day. Or the day after that.' Clearly upset, Ed opened his mouth to say something, but no sound came out. 'In fact, I have the assurance from the Commissioner that you will not be _needed_ here until after the weekend.'

Ed stared back down at the table.

'Are you sure you want me back at all?' he asked eventually.

'Of course I do,' said Ironside shortly. There was a slight pause before the Chief spoke again. 'Ed, I shouldn't have put you in such a dangerous, unpredictable position in the first place. And I'm sorry.'

Ed looked at him, and gave an almost imperceptible nod. He started to say something, most likely something nice, but Ironside cut him off with a scowl.

'Besides, Sergeant Brown, I _don't_ want you hanging around my office looking like you've been in some bar brawl. _And_ it was the Commissioner's orders. He called it time to recover, or something equally as ridiculous.'

'Time to recover?' Ed was looking at him warily, but Ironside returned his gaze, leaning forwards.

'It doesn't matter as you've not been cleared for active duty. I would think after having to fight for your life you would welcome a short rest,' he said. 'You worked two double shifts and unpaid overtime on this case. You're due a break.'

Ed looked genuinely surprised, and grateful with it. Ironside hated it when people looked grateful, especially when he was the one who'd landed them in trouble in the first place.

'A break, that's all?' echoed Ed. 'Not a demotion? Not a suspension?'

'Unless you _want_ a suspension, Sergeant Brown?'

'N-no, I just thought that…'

'You can do your thinking on your own time, Ed,' Ironside said. 'You've got five days off, that would be plenty of time to _think_ all you want. Monday morning, I expect you back here, good to go. That understood?'

Ed nodded but only slightly, as if it hurt to move his head too far.

'Yes, Chief,' he said.

'That's settled then,' Ironside said, looking around at his friends, a small smile on his face. 'Meantime, since my aide saw fit to take himself off on his own for two days,' Ironside glared at Mark, 'and his replacement had an offer he couldn't refuse,' Ironside glared at Ed, ' _we_ don't have any dinner.'

'Dinner?' asked Eve.

'Dinner. I think my expenses would stand a little celebration, now we're all back in one piece.'

Ed's smile was slightly squint due to the bruise, but the warmth in it was clear enough.

'You do _want_ dinner?' Ironside asked his three staff members with mock seriousness. 'Don't you?'

'Sure man!'

'Yes, Chief!'

Only Ed didn't reply.

'No dinner for you, Ed?' Ironside asked with a wry smile.

Sergeant Brown carefully shook his head.

'If it's steak, then I don't think I can't chew it.'

A wide grin spread across Ironside's face.

'Don't worry, you don't have to chew chili!' The Chief looked around the table, more pleased and proud of his staff than he could ever tell them.

'Well,' he said grumpily, wheeling himself away from the table. 'What are we waiting for? Let's go!'

* * *

The End!


End file.
